


DiNozzo's A What?

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2018-12-02 14:51:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Tony reveals a long held secret and a murder takes the team into new territory.





	DiNozzo's A What?

DiNozzo's A What?  
by yanagi_wa

This is a massive and somewhat nasty foreword.

One, do not tell me I misspelled one word one time. I don’t care. If three betas didn’t catch it, on top of the spell checker and three or four proofs that I did; it can just stay that way. If I’m consistently misspelling something, I do want to know.

Two, this is an AU. There will be things that are not consistent with the ‘real’ military. I don’t care. It’s my story, my military works my way. And if you’re stupid enough to tell me you’re a SEAL? I know you’re not. The SEALs don’t care about my story, they’ve got a lot more important things to worry about. Also, I know a great deal about guns and explosives, what I don’t know, my son, husband, or besty knows. If they don’t know it, it’s probably classified. If I’ve made a mistake, or you believe I have, back it up with REAL facts, and links, or shut up.

Three, plot holes seem to be a real problem of mine. If you find one, and you have a way to fix it that isn’t a massive rewrite, I’ll consider it. Also, it might be a plot hole, and it might not. So think before you troll.

Four, if something that happened in the show doesn’t suit me, it didn’t happen. Don’t be a canon Nazi. Thank you.

 

I’ve watched people drive several really good writers clear out of a fandom. Minka83 comes to mind. I’m old and nasty and have a very thick skin and a huge vocabulary, so nitpicking and quibbling will probably just piss me off; then you’ll get an earful.

Warnings for this story include: swearing, blood, battlefield humor, descriptions of torture (not too graphic, but it is torture) and NO pairings. OC’s, some of whom are created just to die (red shirts, if you will). Other stuff I can’t be arsed to detail will probably come up. Also made-up geography, as real info on the location of SEAL CenCom is a bit thin on the ground.

Also, Minka83’s deleted stories inspired these. If SHE wants to speak to me about them, I’ll discuss things. If you want to blame, flame or otherwise annoy me about mine being somewhat like hers; Remember, you’re probably one of the idiots who drove her out in the first place. (also, while inspired by her, my stories are probably a lot darker than hers. So get over it)

Side note: I asked. Most of my military contacts said they never, ever use the word ‘helo’ to refer to a chopper. It sounds too much like HALO. 

Now - if you’re still hanging around, read on.  
. DiNozzo’s a What? . Beta'ed by Jordre and Jake  


<><><>

Senior Agent Anthony DiNozzo rubbed his aching head and returned his gaze to his monitor. It didn’t help that it had developed a flicker. He groped for the bottle of Tylenol he kept in his desk drawer. The voice near his ear made him stiffen.

“Geeze, DiNozzo, why didn’t you tell me your monitor was failing? Oh, wait, you haven’t been here for three days. Not to mention being out of contact over the long weekend.” Junior Agent Timothy McGee eyed his friend and mentor sourly. “You’re hungover again, aren’t you?” The accusing tone made Tony grimace. “Well, get up, go wash your face, take some pills, and let me change this out. It’ll be done by the time you’re back.” Tim patted his friend on one shoulder sympathetically. “Gibbs’ll have your head if he catches you.”

Tony was grateful for Tim’s steady presence. His head pounded with the beat of his heart and he knew that the mild concussion was going to be a nuisance until it cleared up. And Gibbs was going to give him hell over this. It was 0900 and already looking to be a long day.  
<><><><>.  
Tony looked into the mirror for a moment, noting the slightly gray cast to his skin and the tiny wrinkles around his eyes. As he looked, he realized that his ‘cocky frat boy’ persona was going to have to go. It was just too exhausting to keep up. Also, he was fairly sure that McGee didn’t need him riding his ass anymore. He’d shaped up into a good agent and a fine backup. He cupped his hands, catching the cold water, then splashed it on his face. 

Tony dried his face carefully, then pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket. He was on another course of antibiotics for a cut on his back. He couldn’t reach it to put the medicated cream on it and he wasn’t letting anyone else at his back, so it was beginning to get infected. He dumped two capsules into his hand then got the bottle of Tylenol out and added four of those. 

He didn’t even flinch when a hand reached over his shoulder and grasped his wrist. Gibbs thought he could sneak up on Tony and he, Tony, let him keep his delusion. The softly growled, “I’ll take those.” made him sigh.

“No, Boss, you won’t. I’ll show you the bottles, but you won’t take them.” Tony turned to look Gibbs in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, and I don’t much care.” He handed Gibbs the bottles and turned to take the pills, cupping one palm under the still running water to wash them down with a quick drink.

Gibbs took his time examining the prescription label then the capsules. They matched the prescription. “What kind of infection do you have, DiNozzo? Or should I ask?”

Tony gave his boss a dirty look. “I’m not Don’t Ask, Don’t Telling, if that’s what you’re implying. I got cut on... a hike. It’s getting infected.” He took the bottles back. “If you’re done with the interrogation, I need to get back to my desk. There’s a fucking pile of paperwork on that last case I need to finish up.” 

Leroy Jethro Gibbs watched as his senior agent left the restroom, back rigid, and wondered what the hell was going on with him. He was getting more and more exhausted and his unexplained absences more troubling. He was going to get to the bottom of this, Tony was too important, too good to waste. One of his rules was, ‘You don’t waste good.’ And Tony was too young to look that tired. 

As he wondered when this had started, his quick intelligence realized that it had started before Tony came to NCIS. Possibly as early as Peoria. So... As he started to apply his brilliant investigative mind to the problem, he realized another thing. Morrow had known something; so had Jen. But what? He poked at that for a moment, then knew: if Morrow and Shepard had known, then Vance should too. But Vance didn’t like DiNozzo much, for some reason. Would this make it easier, or harder, to persuade Vance to tell him what the hell was going on?

With an irritable motion of his head, Gibbs went to ask his questions. 

He blew past Cynthia in his usual fashion, ignoring her yelp in favor of reaching his target. He walked in on the end of a remark by the Secretary of the Navy himself.

“Vance. I don’t give a damn, this program is too important for you to fuck it up. Get a damn grip.” Then he turned and gave Gibbs a challenging look. “Got something to say, Jarhead?”

Gibbs, used to the epithetical nickname, snarled back. “I do. What the fuck are you talking about? And what the hell is up with DiNozzo?”

The SecNav gave Vance a warning look then turned to Gibbs. “Need to know. And you don’t...not yet, at any rate.” He eyed Gibbs up and down then ordered, “Take it easy on the man. He’s involved in...”

“Some damn top secret operation that I’m not on the short list for. I’m right, so don’t give me shit. Just...” He rubbed his nose for a second, a sure sign that he was trying not to explode all over.

“Gunny, when the time is right, you’ll know. But it’s his call. Now, what the hell brought you in here in full-out pissed-off-Gunny mode? And do not evade, avoid, or deflect.”

“DiNozzo’s taking pills, antibiotics. Says they’re prescribed, but I don’t recognize the doctor’s name. And he’s concussed, or I miss my guess. So. Ducky, or someone else. But he needs to be seen to.” Gibbs knew the SecNav well; and, despite his political face, trusted him. Vance, not so much, the man hid too much.

“Take him to Ducky. I’ll call down. And... Gibbs? Don’t hang around. He won’t thank you for it.” The SecNav took his phone from his aide and waved Gibbs away.

The only reason he actually went was because it was either that or punch the man. And his ‘fucked-upness’ radar was going off like crazy. He just had to figure out who or what was setting it off.  
He worried at that for a moment then just nodded, turned and left. He snagged Tony, barked, “With me.” and headed for Autopsy. Not where you’d think to go with someone who was just sick but Ducky was physician of record for the whole team. It made things a lot easier all around. 

When he was called, Tony just followed Gibbs into the elevator with a tired, “On your six, Boss.”

Gibbs reached out and hit the stop button the second the doors shut. “Ok, DiNozzo, what the hell is going on? I was going to ask Vance but the SecNav himself told me to lay off. I got the feeling that even Vance doesn’t know much. So start talking, and make it fast, and the truth.”

Tony just leaned back against the wall and rested his aching head on it. “Sorry, Boss, not my secret to tell. If I could, I would. But... I answer to someone else... and it’s not Vance.” He knew that he wasn’t making much sense, but the effects of his concussion were worse than usual. He knew he was tired, between back-to-back missions, cases, and retraining; he was just plain old out of steam. But he was well aware that, if not for Gibbs' steadying presence in his life, he’d probably be dead or discharged by now. So, he said, “Boss, I need to make a private call. I’ll meet you in Autopsy. Ok?”

Gibbs gave Tony a close once over, “Ok. But you better come clean soon. Vance had the SecNav up his nose about this.”

“Boss, you’re going to be pissed no matter what I do. I’m ...” 

The Gibbs-slap came out of nowhere. “Ow! Damnit, Boss. I’ve got a fucking concussion.”

Gibbs sighed, “Shit. And how the hell someone let you come in to work with it, I’ll never know.” He paused for a second. “Or will I?”

Tony decided, in that moment, that he was bringing Gibbs in, chain of command be damned. “I need to make that call.”

Gibbs knew that this was all he was going to get, for now, so he hit the switch, the lights came back on and they descended to the depths of Autopsy.

The second the elevator doors opened, Tony pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and fiddled with it. He texted someone, glared at the screen, then sent another text. Gibbs was very careful not to even glance in Tony’s direction. 

When Tony went, ‘Ha!’ he turned back around. “Ok, DiNozzo, what’s the scoop?”

Tony smiled one of his thousand watt smiles and replied, “Ok, Boss, it’s this way... you know that some things are classified ‘burn before reading, shoot yourself in the head after’, right?” Gibbs gave his lead agent one of those looks, half disgusted/half amused, that he specialized in. “Ok. You were Special Ops. Specialized in black- and wet- work.” Gibbs gave a jerky nod. “So do I. But I’m a SEAL.”

Gibbs thought about that while he sipped his coffee; he finally asked, “What team?”

“The one that doesn’t exist.” Tony waited for more questions.

All he got was a look, a nod and the order, “Lose the frat-boy shit and stop picking on McGee.”

Tony grinned at him, “Gotcha, Boss.” He started for Autopsy, but turned back. “Don’t tell anyone else; I only got permission to tell you.”

Gibbs gave Tony a wry look. “SecNav?”

Tony cleared his throat. “POTUS.”

Gibbs blinked once. “Fucking hell!”

“Yeah.” And with that, Tony left his boss standing in the hall and staring into his coffee.  
<><><><>.  
Dr Donald ‘Ducky’ Mallard knew something was up by the email he’d gotten from one of the agents in the squad room. Tony had managed to hurt himself again. He had his suspicions, of course, but he’d never say a word; not until he got the go-ahead from Tony himself.

When Tony ambled in the door, he greeted him with, “Well, Anthony, how have you managed to damage yourself now?”

Tony grimaced; this was not going to be pretty. He’d managed to keep at least a t-shirt on for years, even in undercover assignments with the very detail-oriented Ziva David. “Ducky, I got cut and it’s getting infected. I’m also concussed. And I can’t tell you why or how. Just... can you medic me?”

“Of course, dear boy. And mum’s the word. Now, let me see you.” Ducky went into his office to get his medic bag, as opposed to his autopsy bag, calling over his shoulder. “Remove whatever article of clothing you need to and hop up onto table 3.”

Tony did as asked, shucking off his jacket, tie, shirt and t-shirt, then settling on the autopsy table. He didn’t need to ‘hop,’ as his long legs made it a matter of hitching one hip on the table and scooting back. 

Ducky opened his bag and settled it on a small rolling table, then pushed the table to where he could reach it. “Now. Concussion first; that will tell me what meds I can prescribe for the infection.”

“Got a scrip already. Here.” Tony fished the bottle out of his pocket and gave it over. 

Ducky accepted the bottle, glanced at it then put it on the table. “Well, let me see about this concussion.” He picked up his pen light and flashed it in Tony’s eyes.

Tony flinched away. “Oh, no, Duck. Flashy light. Not good.” 

“I don’t imagine it is. You do have a concussion. Your pupils are a bit uneven and don’t react as quickly as I could wish. Any dizziness, nausea, black outs?”

“No, just light sensitivity and a damn pounding head.” Tony braced himself for the next bit as Ducky moved to look at his back. 

“Oh, dear.” 

Tony gave a rather forced laugh. “Not so pretty, is it? How bad?”

Ducky tore his eyes away from the scars and focused on the new injury. It was inflamed and a bit too red, but nothing some cream and a refill of the antibiotics wouldn’t fix. “Not bad, dear boy. I’ll put some cream on it now and you will come down every day for more, until the stitches come out. I’d like to call your physician; what is his number?”

“Ducky, you’re my physician of record.” Tony waited for the explosion but it never came.

Ducky just said, in a weary, annoyed tone of voice. “I see. So... who stitched you up? Where did you get the scrip?”

“Field medic and... I can’t tell you more. Sorry.” Tony knew he was putting obstacles in the way of his care but he couldn’t share without permission. Permission that he was reluctant to ask for, for obvious reasons.

“Tut-tut, Anthony, I know better than to pry into this sort of thing. I was just hoping to get all your records in one place. For future reference, you see.” Ducky gently poked and prodded the cut while he was speaking. “Well, as I said, it’s not that bad. I’ll have you down before you go on duty, then again when you come off. I’ll put this cream on for you each time.”

“Thanks, Ducky; how soon before the stitches come out? They itch.” Tony held still as Ducky put the antibiotic/analgesic cream on his cut. He desperately wanted to put his t-shirt back on, before someone barged in and saw something they shouldn’t. 

He wasn’t to be so lucky. 

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was the first to admit that he had a temper; what he saw put it on Red Alert. “Who do I kill?”

“Sorry, Boss, you can’t kill anyone.” Tony sighed, he really hadn’t wanted to deal with this just yet. He was too tired, so tired that it was a Herculean effort not to fall asleep where he sat.

“And why not?” The icy tone proved that Gibbs was controlling himself with a Herculean effort of his own.

“Because there’s nothing like expressing your displeasure with a couple of pounds of C-4.” Tony’s grin looked nothing like his usual goofy, pleasant one, it more resembled a rictus disguised as a smile.

Gibbs returned the look. “Well, ok, then.” He took a gulp of his fresh, scalding hot coffee. “Get dressed, we’ve got a DB.”

Tony quickly thanked Ducky as he scrambled into his clothing. “I’ll be back down about... 1700?” 

Ducky just nodded, a bit absently, as he put away his things. “Be sure to get me your records as soon as you can, dear boy.”  
<><><><>.  
When they reached the small pocket-park, Gibbs stewed in silence as he crawled the last two blocks. The rubberneckers were out in force, driving or walking by, or just standing around. “Get this mess cleared up, McGee. Tell the LEO’s to block off the streets at least three blocks back in every direction.”

“On it, Boss.” McGee was well aware of Gibbs’ opinion of this sort of behavior. It just plain pissed him off.

After talking to the LEO’s and getting them started on traffic control, Tim returned to the crime scene. The locals had just cordoned off the whole park and were stringing up a makeshift curtain; hiding the body from the casual sightseers with some of the ubiquitous blue plastic tarps available from any Wal-mart-type store. Gibbs was talking to the police supervisor in charge with a sour expression on his face. Ziva was canvassing the locals, most of whom were standing around in clumps staring at the body. Although why anyone would want to stand and stare at this mess, she couldn’t fathom. 

Tony had been sent to circle the park and look for clues before they were trampled by the rubberneckers. He took about thirty minutes to make sure he’d done the job right. Then he returned to Gibbs. 

Hey, Boss, Ducky here yet?”

“No. Palmer got them lost, again. I swear, I’m gonna buy them a GPS.” Gibbs’ expression made his opinion crystal clear.

Tony couldn’t help it, he felt sorry for Jimmy Palmer. “Boss, if Ducky would let the poor guy actually follow his directions, they’d get here. The Duckman has a fatal weakness for shortcuts. Palmer doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Then why doesn’t he tell me so?”

“Because, the poor guy is scared to death of you. Can’t imagine why.” Tony’s grin actually did take the sting out of his words.

Gibbs gave Tony his patented ‘Don’t mess with me.’ glower then nodded toward the hidden body of their Marine. “Photograph, bag and tag. Ziva and McGee are interviewing the so-called witnesses.”

“And why are they doing that? I mean, instead of me. I’m much more personable than Mossad and McGeek.” Tony saw the swat coming out of the corner of his eye but let it land. “Sorry, Boss. Still concussed.”

 

Gibbs smirked faintly. “Wasn’t that hard. Anyway, I told you, no more frat-boy. Get the camera and get busy. As soon as McGee and Ziva are done with what they’re doing, I’ll set them to working the perimeter of the park. They need the experience.”

Tony didn’t really mind the head slaps, usually, but he still had a headache and the smack had made it worse. He turned to start photographing the body.

He pushed through an overlap and got his first good look at the body. “Well, fuck. Dammit.” The body was a mess. The man had been flogged, burned, then strangled. It was obviously a torture death, and not here. Tony shook his head. What the hell?

Ducky turned from his examination of the hanging body. “Get the poor man down from there, Tony. Jimmy, help him.”

Jimmy Palmer just nodded. “I’ll get the body bag. Maybe McGee can help us? I don’t think the two of us can manage by ourselves.”

Just then, Ziva poked her head into the enclosure. “Oh, la tvbh.” She managed to keep her stomach in place; after all, she was a Mossad-trained ex-assassin and knew all about interrogation techniques. That didn’t mean she had to like it. 

Tony turned and snapped, “Ya think? Ziva, go find McGee, you’re not tall enough to help.”

Ducky just left to fetch the body bag and gurney, leaving his compatriots to deal, saying, “I’ll fetch things, Mr. Palmer.”

“Ok. I will bring Gibbs too.” Ziva wasn’t about to object to this; she wasn’t tall enough to help. She left to find Gibbs. 

He was in another consultation with the locals and, by the look on his face, it wasn’t going well. She decided that it might be a good idea to interrupt before Gibbs exploded. “Gibbs, we need you to help get the body down. It’s too heavy for Mr. Palmer to do by himself. Special Agents McGee and DiNozzo would rather not disrespect our Marine by dropping him. Come? Yes?”

“Ok, Agent David, be there in a few.” He turned to the local to snarl, “Look, I’m not about to get into a pissing contest with you. That man is a Marine; dog tags prove it. That means he’s mine. We’re going to cooperate on this, it’s your jurisdiction, but he’s mine. Got it?” He poured all his fury into his gaze and the supervisor quailed. “Good.” And with that, Lead Senior Field Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs strode off to deal with his Marine, mumbling, “Damn locals just don’t get it.” He was not going to let ‘his’ body get into the hands of anyone but Ducky.

Ziva sighed in irritation. She knew why Gibbs hated dealing with locals, but she also knew that they were their best source of information. That was why Gibbs usually left Tony DiNozzo to deal with them. He didn’t irritate the chain of command by being a Marine. She turned to the Super and gave him a coy smile. “He just hates it when someone is tortured, especially a Marine.” 

The Super gave back a slightly dazzled grimace. “Ok, yeah, I can sympathize. But he’s a local boy. Doesn’t live in this neighborhood, but he goes to church at St. Mary’s. I’ll get my men out, canvass for last sighting and all that.”

Ziva gave the man another smile. “Yes, see, that is exactly the sort of help we need. Send all reports to this address. Yes?” She took his phone from him and typed in McGee’s email address. “Direct access to our forensic computer expert. He’ll collate all the data. Thank you so much.” She muttered direly in Hebrew as she hurried back to finish her bag-and-tag.

While Ziva was doing her bag-and-tag—and yes, Ziva, McGee and DiNozzo all went over the same areas. What one person might have missed, another would see. It was not anything against any of the agents, it was procedure, pure and simple―Gibbs, McGee and DiNozzo were helping Jimmy get their body down from its position.

Since the Marine had been suspended from a gazebo by the wrists, this meant that McGee and Gibbs had to wrap the body in a ‘clean sheet’ and then lift it up enough to take the weight off the suspension points. Then Palmer and DiNozzo cut the cords, letting the man’s arms fall to his sides. 

Tony hopped down from his vantage point atop an upturned garbage can, saying, “Well, that’s a mess. Palmer, need some help wrapping him up?”

McGee gave Gibbs a blank look, then said, “We can see it’s a mess. I mean, the poor guy...” He trailed off when Gibbs glared at him.

Gibbs turned to Ducky. “Initial opinion, Duck.”

“He was tortured elsewhere. I would imagine that his screams of agony would have awakened the entire neighborhood.”

Gibbs interrupted him with a dry, “Ya think?”

Ducky gave him a mildly irritated look then continued, “Liver temp indicates that he died sometime between 2400 and 0130. I’ll narrow it down during autopsy. Cause of death: strangulation.” Ducky glanced over his shoulder to see that, between them, the three younger men had gotten the body decently covered and were pushing the gurney back to the ME’s wagon. 

Gibbs shook his head. This was going to be a very bad one. A naked, tortured Marine found in a rather up-scale neighborhood kiddy park, strung up in the central gazebo? How could it be anything but bad?

Tony gazed at the van for several minutes, chasing a thought. It wouldn’t come, and his pounding headache ramped up a notch.

Gibbs had been keeping a surreptitious eye on his 2IC and now realized that what had started out as a mild concussion headache was now a pounding migraine. “DiNozzo, take a pill. You look like crap.”

“Won’t help. I need something a bit stronger than Tylenol. I’ll take something when I get home.” Tony added to himself, 'In about thirty-six hours, unless I miss my guess.' He was not happy about that, either. He needed to get some sleep. He’d already been up for twenty-four hours. He was used to being sleep-deprived on operations, but he didn’t see the need just now. Their dead Marine would be just as dead, whether he got some sleep or not. And this was not a crime of passion, where the perp would run, making it difficult to find him or her. The people who had killed their Marine were pros and already long gone.

Gibbs sighed; none of his team was in top shape. Tony was concussed, McGee was catching a cold, and Ziva was distracted by her father’s latest demand that she return to Israel. He made an executive decision and hoped that he wasn’t going to regret it. 

“Ok, everyone, finish your sweep, then go home and get some rest. Be back at 0700.” He was irritated to see the wide-eyed stares directed at him by everyone. “What? Go!”

They went.

Both Tony and Tim were relieved. Tim really was catching the cold from hell and Tony needed sleep; going on a mission with a wound wasn’t Tony’s favorite thing, but he’d had to. He was the backup; the Chief Warrant Officer who’d been supposed to go on the latest mission had managed to break his leg. 

Ziva was glad to go for a different reason. She had always known that Tony was doing something sub rosa, but she had kept out of it as none of her business. But now, Tony had told Gibbs, so she felt that that made it fair game for her. She was going to make a few calls.

Gibbs returned to NCIS in the van containing Ducky, Jimmy, and their dead Marine. He checked in all the evidence, then hand-carried it to Abby. 

“Here you go, Abbs. Not much, but see what you can find. I swear, that park is groomed daily so... Well, most of this stuff had to have been deposited within the last few hours. But the park wasn’t the site, it was just a dump. We’re still looking for our initial scene.” Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck irritably. He hated this sort of case. Someone wanted something from their victim but who, what, and why? 

“Gibbs, there’s nothing here.” Abby looked up from the few scraps of evidence they’d managed to collect. “I mean, really, nothing.”

Gibbs nodded. “I know, Abby, I know. Just do your best. I’m going to see Ducky, maybe he can come up with something off the body.”

Abby nodded a bit absently. She was already immersed in the few bits of evidence they had; if there was something useful there, she’d find it. 

Gibbs winced a bit as Abby turned her music back up. How she could call that crap music was beyond him.  
<><><><>.  
Ducky nodded to Jimmy. “Very well, my young friend, first things first.” He turned to see his assistant holding one of the Marine’s hands and staring at the cord around his wrist. “What is it?” 

Ducky knew that, sometimes, he was a bit impatient with Jimmy but he was so very young. This was obviously one of the times he needed patience.

Jimmy Palmer was a good Boy Scout and knew his knots. This one was familiar but he couldn’t figure out why. “Um ... sorry, Dr Mallard. I just ... no ... never mind. I’ll remember... sooner or later.” Jimmy shook his head. “Should I cut the cords opposite the knots or close?”

“Opposite. And preserve all the cord except for about an inch from each bond. Bag and tag them separately, labeled by which limb they came from.”  
Ducky watched as Jimmy did as he was told. Then he drew blood, swabbed for urine and feces, tagging each swab carefully. There was no telling what information might be gleaned from body fluids. He also swabbed the mouth, nose, and ears, and cut a bit of hair, remarking, “Not that there’s much with a high-and-tight, but still...” He patted the corpse on the shoulder and told it, “We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry.” 

Jimmy took all the samples and headed for Abby’s lab, still worrying at that fact that hovered on the edge of his consciousness. Something about those knots was annoying the Boy Scout in him. He shoved the annoyance away, knowing that, the more he picked at it, the less chance there was of his actually remembering anything.

 

 

 

<><>chapter two<><>

 

In order to get everyone where they needed to go, Tim, Ziva, and Tony took the agency sedan back to NCIS to pick up their cars. 

The odd little dance that they usually did in order to figure out who was going to drive, didn’t happen this time. Ziva nodded to Tony then announced, “He is too concussed to drive,[ and] my driving will only make his headache worse. Timothy, you will drive― much as I hate that.” She handed Tim the keys and got into the back seat. “I will ride in the back.”

Tony just got into the passenger seat and laid his head back on the headrest. “Just drive, McGee. I think I’m starting to see double.” Tony knew it was no use trying to hide how bad it was getting. He knew that the Gibbs-slaps he’d gotten hadn’t made anything worse. Gibbs’ slaps weren’t that hard; he never smacked any of them any harder than you’d smack a toddler on the leg. It was more the idea than the actual pain. His protests and flinching were just for show, and to let Gibbs know he’d gotten the point. His concussion was just ‘maturing.’

Tim just drove. He might not be a physician, but he had a BS in biomedical engineering and he knew a concussion when he saw one. He worried about Tony a lot more than he let on. The man was always coming to work on Mondays—not every one, but a lot—hurt in some way. He was coming to the conclusion that the idiot was cage-fighting; some damn undercover thing, maybe. 

When they got to the parking lot, Ziva scrambled out of the back seat, grabbed her pack, and trotted off to her car. She had some calls to make to try to get her father to understand that she really wasn’t coming back home.

Tim, on the other hand, took Tony’s pack as well as his own. “Come on. I’ll drive you home. You’re not going to drive safely in that condition.”

Tony started to object, swayed as his vision suddenly doubled, and gave up. “Sorry, McDriver. I know it’s out of your way. But thanks.”

Tim offered a sop to Tony’s ego. “Yeah, just a good excuse to ride in my Porsche.”

Tony just got into the car and sighed, “Got to admit, it’s damn comfy.”

Tim drove Tony home. When they got there, he just got Tony’s pack and his own and headed for the door. “Come on.” Tim turned around just in time. Tony’s knees buckled and he grabbed at the top of the car to keep from hitting the ground. Tim yelled, “Tony, hang on. I’m going to get the door open, then come back for you.”

Tony clung grimly to the car, determined not to go down in front of his probie. “Got it.” He didn’t bother trying to get his keys. They all had keys to each other's homes, in case of some emergency... like now.

Tim opened the door, and tossed their packs in and to the side. He hurried back to Tony.

“Ok, man, I’ve got you. Let’s get in before you pass completely out.”

Tony just groaned then mumbled, “On it, probie. I don’t get why I’m so out of it.” It was with some relief that he dropped onto his couch. “I don’t usually react to a mild concussion like this. Bad; not good at all.”

Tim ignored his rambling in favor of examining his eyes, then his prescriptions. “Ok, mild concussion, but double vision and dizziness? When was the last time you ate or slept properly?”

Tony considered that for a moment. “Slept... three hours. Ate... don’t know. Had an energy bar after I woke up.”

“You’re an idiot. I don’t know what you were doing but... when did you sleep?”

“About... twenty-four hours ago. Give or take.” Tony groaned as his headache ramped up again. “Head... hurts. Can’t...” He gave in to dry heaves.

Tim scrambled to find something for Tony to puke into and wound up with the bathroom waste can. It was plastic and would wash easily enough. When Tony was through, Tim brought him a glass of water and a bottle of pills that he’d found in the medicine cabinet. “Here. Drink, then pills. Are these the right ones? If they’re not, I’ll go take another look.”

Tony closed one eye. “That’s the right one.” He struggled to remember. “Oh, and I’ve got... somewhere. Pocket? Don’t...” But he succumbed to another round of heaves, producing nothing but a bit of bile.

Tim, worried now, searched both his pockets and backpack, coming up with the other prescriptions. “Ok. What... Mmmm.” He checked the labels and decided that taking them all together wouldn’t do much harm. “Here. Take these too. I didn’t see you take anything at the scene, so you’re overdue for these.”

Tony grumbled a bit but took the rest of his meds without more protest. He knew that they would probably just come right back up, but it wasn’t worth the effort to argue. He flinched slightly as a slice of buttered bread was shoved under his nose.

“Eat that. Two of those meds need to be taken with food. And... if you only got three hours of sleep and an energy bar twenty-four hours ago, when was the time before that?” Tim had a fair idea what was wrong with Tony; he only needed this last bit of information to prove him right.

Tony sighed. “Um... sleep? About two hours, twelve hours or so before that and food... MRE about the same time.” Tony knew he was probably saying too much but he really didn’t have a choice. He’d told his superiors that he wasn’t going to lie to his team, no matter what. But he wasn’t going to spill his guts either. He knew that his struggle to keep his secrets was almost over, but old habits die hard.

Tim shook his head. “I think you’re more sleep-deprived and hungry than you are concussed. I’ll fix you something quick. Anything you’d particularly like?”

“Food. Don’t care. Kitchen’s stocked pretty good. Just... nothing red.” Tony realized he was listing to one side when Tim lifted his feet and started pulling off his shoes. 

When he got them off he realized that Tony’s socks were stuck to his feet. “Tony? What the hell?”

Tony just whimpered a bit as Tim accidentally, unknowingly, tore the scabs off his blistered feet. He had realized they were really bad after he’d gotten to work. Now, all the blisters had burst, oozed, and stuck to his socks. “I got a few blisters. Tired... Tim, please, no questions. Not just yet.”

“Ok, Tony, but... if you’re in some kind of trouble, I’ll help you, just... you have to tell me.” Tim rubbed Tony’s shoulder gently. “Let me help.”

“Ok.” Tony struggled with his increasing exhaustion, it was now snowballing on him and there was no way to stop the crash that was coming. “I need to eat and sleep before I’ll make any sense at all.”

Tim just got up, put Tony’s feet on the couch, and headed for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Soup ... not tomato, and a sandwich, ok?”

Tony mumbled something Tim took as agreement, so he started cooking.

As he riffled the kitchen for what he needed, he realized that Tony might be a confirmed bachelor but he could cook. The kitchen was well stocked with everything needed to make at least a week's worth of meals. He decided on a rich chicken soup and a grilled-cheese-and-bacon sandwich, with herbal tea to drink. He hoped that this meal would help with his cold too.

“Tony, here, sit up.” Tim knew that he wasn’t going to get Tony to the kitchen table. 

Tony dragged himself upright and blinked for a moment, trying to reorient himself. “Oh... soup. Nice.” 

Tim watched as Tony just picked up the bowl and gulped the soup right from the rim. “Tony, sandwich.” Tim picked up his spoon and started on his own soup. 

Tony took a look at the sandwich. “Grilled cheese, but what else?”

Tim nodded at the sandwich. “Bacon. Mom always fixed it when I was sick. Thought I’d try it out on you. Is it ok?”

Tony took a bite. “Mmm, yeah, that’s the stuff. Really good.” He smiled at his friend and realized that he was only putting off telling him, any of them, because he knew that they’d be upset with him. But the program was ‘need to know’ and they hadn’t. Now, due to a change in conditions, it was ending and all the participants had permission to reveal who and what they were, after official consent. 

Tim finished eating, then, rather hesitantly, asked, “Should I call... someone... about your feet, I mean.” He really didn’t like the way they looked, and broken blisters could bring on infection, gangrene, amputation—he dragged those thoughts to a halt. He was beginning to feel really bad, and his imagination was running rampant.

Tony, noticing the rather wild-eyed look on Tim’s face, said, “Calm down, Probie. What’s getting you in such a lather?”

Tim took a deep breath; he was too experienced, now, to act like a greenie. “I don’t know what to do. How to help you. Should I call Ducky? Or someone else?”

Tony shook his head, trying to sort out the questions. He was a SEAL and a unit commander; when necessary, he should be able to deal with this. But his sleep-deprived, crashing brain just couldn’t. “I don’t know. Just... deal, okay? I’m too tired to care.”

So Tim did the best he could. He called Gibbs.  
<><><><>.  
Gibbs glanced at his watch as he answered the phone with his other hand. “Gibbs.” It was still early, not quite 1700. He listened for a few moments, then snapped his phone shut. 

“Ducky, I gotta go. DiNozzo and McGee are both in trouble.” Gibbs made a face. He wasn’t sure what good he’d be with a concussed SEAL and a sick agent. But he had to go.

Ducky looked up from his autopsy and asked, “What is it?”

“Not sure. But McGee sounds like he’s on his last legs, and he said that DiNozzo has something wrong with his feet. Sounded like he’s got half an ocean up his nose.” Gibbs rubbed his face with one hand. “I need to go assess the situation.”

“I’ll have Mr. Palmer go with you. He’s nearly ready for his residency, so I’m sure he’s quite capable of handling a cold and Special Agent DiNozzo’s little problem.” He pointed to his desk with his chin. “Just make sure that he gets that cream applied.” He stripped off his gloves, called Palmer from his tiny office and waited until he poked his head into Autopsy. “Ah! Mr Palmer. It seems that both Agent McGee and Special Agent DiNozzo are in some sort of medical need. Do go with Special Agent Gibbs and tend to them.”

Jimmy paled, eyed Gibbs as if he were a snake ready to strike, and stammered, “But... Dr Mallard. I...I shouldn’t. I’m not... I don’t...”

Ducky dismissed his misgivings by telling him, “My dear boy, the Good Samaritan law covers this nicely. Now, run along with Gibbs.”

Jimmy made a sound high in his throat and scurried back to his cubbyhole to collect his bag. He was a bit proud of it; his mother had saved for months to present him with his very own “little black bag.” She was totally unaware that most doctors now carried some version of a medic bag. But he was still proud of it.

Gibbs watched him scurry out, then turned a raised eyebrow to Ducky. “You sure?”

“Yes, I am. He needs the experience. He’s due to start his residency soon, as I said. He is perfectly capable.”

Jimmy returned just then, bag in hand. Gibbs eyed it for a moment then observed, “Nice.” He turned and strode out with Jimmy on his heels.  
<><><><>.  
Tony knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t exactly sure what. His brain was so exhausted that it just wouldn’t work. He was sure he heard Gibbs’ voice, but why was his Boss here?

He turned his head and blinked blearily at the silhouette he saw against his picture window. “Boss?”  
“Right here. I’m going to put McGee in your guest room; he’s got a fever, and I don’t want to move him. That okay?” Gibbs might be a bit of a martinet at work, but this was Tony’s private home, and he wasn’t about to take advantage.

“Fine. He’s bad?” Tony tried to drag himself back from oblivion and nearly succeeded.

He failed because Gibbs just said, “I got your six, DiNozzo; go the fuck to sleep.”

Tony did exactly that. Whatever else he might know, he was sure that Gibbs did have his six.

Gibbs looked at his senior agent and sighed. He was well aware of exactly what was wrong with him. It was called combat crash. 

Tony had left early Tuesday and been gone until late Monday. That was six days. He’d been up most of that time or Gibbs was sadly mistaken. He’d left joking about going on a trip with his frat brothers, he’d come back looking worn out. Gibbs started putting two and three together and getting a picture that was very familiar. The op had obviously been long and difficult, full of things better left unsaid. So now, after days of high tension, forced marches and danger, Tony’s adrenal system was just done. And he was crashing from a combination of exhaustion, pain, deprivation and who knew what else. “Dammit, DiNozzo.”

Gibbs glanced down the hall to the guest room. Jimmy had taken McGee, as being the sickest, and guided him down the hall to get him into bed. Tony had been left on the couch. He was deeply asleep and seemed comfortable where he was.

Gibbs knew that it was going to take both of them to get Tony into his bed, but he could start the process.

“Ok, DiNozzo, I’m going to undress you. I’ll keep talking so you don’t knock my head off.” Gibbs pulled Tony onto his back and started unbuttoning his shirt. “First your shirt. Real silk? I didn’t know silk looked like this. It’s not all shiny like I expect, it’s dull. Why is that? Do you know?” He finished with the buttons then pulled Tony into an upright position. “Sit up for me. I’ll get this off, then start on your pants.” He stripped the shirt down Tony’s arms and tossed it into the nearby chair. “Nice furniture. I never will understand why you live in this tiny rat hole. You can afford something a lot nicer. But...” He started unbuckling Tony’s belt. “If you’re here as little as I think, I suppose it makes sense.” Gibbs got Tony’s belt off, pulling it out of the loops then coiling it up and dropping it on the coffee table. “Ok, DiNozzo, that’s as far as I can go until we get you up to go to bed. No sense in getting you up then having to do it all over again.”

Tony, barely aware of what was going on, slept like the dead.  
<><><><>.  
Jimmy Palmer just knew that something was going to go wrong. Dr Mallard said that Gibbs wasn’t going to do anything to him, but those piercing blue eyes made him so nervous that he acted like an idiot anytime the agent was nearby. Now, he had responsibilities to a living person that he couldn’t mess up. He took a deep breath and got it together. “Ok, I can do this.” With that, he squared his shoulders and helped McGee strip down to his t-shirt and boxers. “Now, get into bed and let me listen to your chest.” He got out his stethoscope and had Tim breathe in and out, again and again, as he moved the scope around his chest and back. “Well, you’re congested, but not too badly. It’s just the flu. If you can call any flu ‘just’. I won’t prescribe anything, as it won’t really do any good. You’ve got a bit of a temp, so good old fashioned aspirin, bed rest, fluids. You know the drill.” He helped Tim get flat, covered him up and put a box of tissues from the bathroom on the bedside table. “There. I’ll be taking care of Special Agent DiNozzo for a bit. Then I’ll be in the living room. If you need me just call. Ok?”

Tim sniffled miserably. “Yah, ‘k. Thanks.” 

Jimmy returned to the living room. “Oh, you’ve almost got him undressed, that’s good.” He moved to Tony’s other side. “Ready?”

Gibbs nodded. “We’ll get him up. Then you’ll get his pants down. I can hold him up until you get them off. Then walk him to his room.”

Jimmy just said, “Ok, got it.” He looked down to see if Tony’s shoes were off. They were but, “Agent Gibbs. I don’t think we should get him on his feet.” He gulped and pointed down. “Look.”

Gibbs looked at Tony’s feet. “Son of a bitch!” He thought for a moment then just squatted a bit and tugged. He stood up with Tony in a combat carry and, angling carefully so he didn’t smack his head into a wall, carried him to his bedroom. With a quick twist and flip, Gibbs got Tony onto the bed. He bounced a bit and grunted with each one, but didn’t wake up.  
“There. Do what’s needed. I’m gonna see if DiNozzo has coffee.” And with that, Gibbs left to make coffee. Jimmy could hear him rattling around in Tony’s kitchen grumbling audibly about the fancy doodads on the coffee maker.

Jimmy went to wash his hands, then, when he returned he said, “Ok, Agent DiNozzo. Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.” His attempt to remove Tony’s t-shirt brought about an unexpected reaction. Tony woke, grabbed his hand, snarled ‘No!’ then went right back to sleep. Jimmy blinked then just listened to Tony’s chest through the shirt.

“Well, your chest is clear. So my first diagnosis is probably correct. Exhaustion.” He had a sudden thought. “But... cream, cream, where?” he rummaged in his bag, found the cream and examined the prescription. “Well, it’s just analgesic and antibiotic but ...” he frowned as he tried to remember. “Dr Mallard said something about his back? Well, he’s not bleeding, so feet first.”

It didn’t take Jimmy long to take care of Tony’s feet. He’d blistered them over the toes and the whole back of his heels. Then the blisters had burst. Jimmy cleaned them up by trimming off the ragged bits of skin then used some of the cream to coat everything. He was blinking rather blankly at the job he’d done, trying to figure out how to bandage it to keep the cream in place and off the sheets when Gibbs stuck his head in.

“Done yet? Coffee’s on.”

“Um ... No, not yet. I’m trying to figure out how to bandage his feet. Toes are hard.” Jimmy flinched, waiting for Gibbs to shoot him down with one of his sarcastic remarks.

Instead, Gibbs just said, with considerable mildness, “Just put a pair of clean cotton socks on him. If he owns such a thing. Then call me. I’ll tend his back. He’ll probably fight you on it.”

Jimmy was already rummaging in the dresser for socks, so he just replied, “Ok. I tried to remove his shirt to get his lung sounds. Didn’t let me. Ha!” He held up the white tube socks in triumph. “I’ll just get these on him and get out of your way.”

It didn’t take Jimmy long to do exactly that then go to check on McGee again. 

While he was doing that, Gibbs just rolled Tony over, saying, “Don’t fight me. I’m just gonna put on that cream and get you into a clean shirt.”

Tony didn’t even flinch. Gibbs did his thing with the cream and a clean shirt then covered Tony with his duvet. “Sleep.” Tony snuffled a bit then settled in again.

Jimmy met Gibbs in the living room and just handed him a cup of coffee. “Here. Before you go, how do I handle Special Agent DiNozzo? I don’t want to get a punch in the face by waking him up wrong.”

Gibbs took the coffee and breathed in the steam with appreciation. “Who says you’re gonna have to deal with him alone?”

“Oh, you’re going to stay? Thanks. That’s good. I was a bit worried about dealing with two patients at once without any help. But... um... not that I think you’re incompetent or anything but... training... um... do you have any? Not that you probably don’t but...” Gibbs glared at Jimmy in a way that ensured the nervous young man would shut up. “Sorry, shutting up now.”

“I’ve got standard NCIS first aid training and I remember a bit from the old days. But,” He raised an eyebrow. “I was a Marine. That means I sorta remember how to follow clear orders.”

Jimmy gaped at Gibbs for a moment and received one of his amused smirks in return. “Ok. That’s good. Not that I’m going to order you around a lot or anything like that but... I’m babbling again, aren’t I?” Jimmy turned and hurried into the kitchen. Gibbs made him so nervous that he always acted the fool when he was around. He poured himself a cup of the coffee Gibbs had made, but one sip convinced him that there was no way he could drink it.

“Here, give me that.” Gibbs reached over Jimmy’s shoulder and relieved him of the mug. He poured half the coffee back into the carafe then got another mug and went to the sink. 

He filled that mug with water and stuck it into the microwave to heat. “Always remember... you can make it weaker, but you can’t make it stronger. Here...” He poured hot water into the mug of coffee, filling it up. “Try that.”

Jimmy took a sip. “Much better. Not that... well, it is... but...”

“Palmer, I’m not gonna smack ya. You’re not mine; I keep my hands off. And smackin’ ya wouldn’t do much good. You don’t think like that. Calm down before you have a stroke.”

“Oh. Um... I’m not good with physical violence, even though... but... well...” He took a deep breath. “Calming down now.” 

“Good. It’s going to be a long night. DiNozzo isn’t going to be much trouble, but McGee? He’s really bad off, isn’t he?” Gibbs didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was worried.

“Yes, but it is just the flu. I don’t think he’s in much danger, unless it turns into pneumonia. But I’d be more worried about DiNozzo in the same condition. Because of Y. pestis, you see. But McGee? His lungs are good, so we’ll just push fluids, and meds for the congestion and pain. He’ll be up and around in no time. Couple of days, tops.”

Gibbs blessed Jimmy with one of his rare smiles. “See, Palmer? Nothing exploded, and I’m not inclined to shoot you. We good?”

Jimmy smiled shyly, “Better.” He took another sip of his coffee and Gibbs was pleased to see that, while he liked it weak as dishwater, he didn’t flinch at its near-boiling temp. Or put anything in it.

Gibbs jerked his head in the direction of the living room. “Let’s go sit down, get some rest before we have to play medic again.”

“Ok; if I fall asleep, just shake me. I don’t do anything... dangerous.” Jimmy settled in the huge, comfortable recliner, leaving the couch for Gibbs.

Gibbs settled on the couch, leaned back, then replied, “I do. Don’t touch me, just call my name until I answer. Sometimes only ‘Gunny’ works.” And with that, he leaned forward, put his empty mug on the coffee table, laid down, and went to sleep.

Jimmy regarded this with some amazement. “Damn, I wish I could do that.” He got up and went to check on McGee and DiNozzo. 

McGee was half asleep, in that vague zone that only the truly sick can reach. Jimmy took his temperature and pulse. “Well, you’re sick as a guy can get. But it’s just the flu. Try to sleep. I’ve got meds coming.”

“Won’t do any good. Flu’s a virus.” McGee tried to focus but it was really hard.

“No, no antibiotics. Just symptomatic treatment. Fluids. That sort of thing.” Jimmy patted him on the shoulder.

“Mmmm, ok. but ...” McGee looked around, puzzled. “Where am I?”

“DiNozzo’s guest room, if you can call this glorified closet a room. Don’t worry about it.” Jimmy tucked him back in. “Go back to sleep, if you can.”

Tim blinked for a moment then sighed, snuggled down and fell asleep. Jimmy worried about having to repeat himself for a moment before he realized that the cold medicine he’d given his patient was making him very drowsy. 

A quick glance in the other bedroom proved that Tony was also asleep. Jimmy wasn’t sure how much longer that was going to last, but he wasn’t about to wake Tony up to check his vitals. They would wait until he woke up on his own.  
<><><><>.  
Several hours later, Tony woke up, disoriented but not combative. He lay in bed for a few moments, trying to figure out what happened. A voice from the door informed him, “Combat Crash.” He rolled his head to see Gibbs lounging against the doorframe, coffee in hand. 

“Ok. Not good. I do anything stupid?” Tony pried himself into an upright position.

“No. Didn’t even snore. Coffee, breakfast. Fifteen minutes.” Gibbs left, having imparted all important information.

Tony snorted softy. “Still a functional mute.” He got out of bed, did an assessment and decided that he was good to go and stripped off his t-shirt and boxers. He’d sweated them in his sleep so he wanted dry. The tiny sound from the door made him flinch. 

He turned to see McGee staring at him from the hall. “Damn. Don’t tell me, I really don’t want to know. I’m too sick to deal right now.” And with that his co-worker shambled back into the guest room and nearly fell into the bed.

“Well, ok, then, don’t deal.” Tony couldn’t help but be a little bit hurt by McGee’s attitude. He fished out boxers, sweat pants and a hoodie, dragged them on and wandered off to find breakfast.

He found both Gibbs and Jimmy Palmer in the kitchen. Palmer was making scrambled eggs while Gibbs dealt with toast. He could see that the oven was on, probably keeping bacon or sausage warm, and the coffee maker was burbling away. His stomach announced his presence with a loud growl. 

“Damn, sorry about that. What’s on the table?” Tony settled in his favorite chair and waited. He wasn’t about to mix in where two people were making food. 

Gibbs plonked a mug in front of him. “You want all that fancy crap?”

“Yeah, I do.” Tony accepted the container of hazelnut creamer and sugar bowl, happily ‘ruining’ his coffee with a huge dollop of creamer and two spoons of sugar.

Gibbs scowled at this then said, “I don’t get it. Knowing what I know, I wouldn’t think you’d want anything in your coffee. What gives?”

Tony realized exactly what Gibbs was asking. “Helps keep me grounded. Coffee with crap,” he grinned, raising his mug in salute, “I’m Stateside. Virgin, I’m in the Box.”  
Gibbs nodded his understanding. “I see. Well...” he considered his words for a moment. “It’s okay... I guess.”

“Well, gee, thanks for that enthusiastic endorsement.” But Tony gave him a grin over the rim of his mug.

Jimmy stifled a snicker as he set a plate in front of Tony. “There, bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns. You want butter, jelly, honey for your toast? I looked for cereal but couldn’t find any.”

Tony mumbled, “Out.” around a mouthful of eggs.

Gibbs just folded a triangle of toast in half and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. No one commented. Gibbs had good table manners, his mother had made sure of that; he just didn’t always use them. 

Tony finished his eggs and started on the hash browns, alternating bites of them with rashers of bacon. 

All three men finished their meal in record time. 

Jimmy started to pick up the dishes but Gibbs stopped him. “I’ve got it. You go check on McGee then come back and give DiNozzo a once over.”

“Okay. I think Agent McGee is going to be down for at least another twenty-four to forty-eight hours. He’s pretty sick.” He glanced at his watch, paled, then exclaimed, “And I’ve got just enough time to check on him before I miss the bus. I’ve got class in an hour.” He rushed out to see to McGee.

Gibbs shook his head then yelled after him, “Don’t panic. I’ll drive you. Got to get back to the Yard.”

Tony grumbled, “I’ll be with ya in a few. I can take a shower in the gym. McGee’s down for the count, so you’ll be a man down.”

“No. Those feet need a while longer to heal. I don’t need you limping around like a foundered mule.” He aimed one of his sly smirks at his senior agent. “Besides, McGee shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Well, shit. Okay, Boss.” Tony knew Gibbs was right; he just didn’t have to like it. “I’ll just work from here. I’ve got high speed WiFi... and you don’t care, do you?” Tony glanced up into amused blue eyes.

“Nope, really don’t give a damn. You gonna be able to stay awake?” This was the only thing that really worried Gibbs. If Tony fell back into a deep sleep, McGee might need something and Tony not hear him call.

“I’m fine now. I really don’t need that much sleep. If I get a good solid four or five hours, I’m good to go. It’s just... my feet really do still hurt.” Tony thought to himself, 'I’m tossing those boots.'

“How the hell did you get your feet into such a mess?” Gibbs was going to cut Tony a new one if he’d been careless with his boots.

“New boots. They leaked and I had both boots full of sand. Not so good when your extraction point is 20 from drop.”

“Ouch. And how far was target from drop?”

“Roped in. Clean job. Quick out. But the devil is in the details.” Tony shrugged, dismissing his troubles as just part of the job.

“Sure is.” Gibbs looked up as he realized that Jimmy was hovering in the door. “You ready?”

“Yes. I gave Agent McGee his meds. Special Agent DiNozzo, you need to take yours. I’d see to it but I really hate being late for class. Sir?” Jimmy glanced at Gibbs.

“Don’t call me sir; I never got a commission. I’m just a grunt, retired even.” Gibbs jerked his head toward the front door.

“I’m sorry.” Jimmy hurried to the door and waited for Gibbs to join him.

Gibbs gave up on telling Palmer not to apologize, just as he’d given up on McGee. It was just too ingrained in their psyche, but he still hated meaningless apologies. He followed Palmer out the door.

 

<><>chapter three<><>

Once they were gone, Tony checked his dishes, then put them away.

After policing the kitchen, he went to check on McGee.

His partner was half asleep, breathing like a broken-down race horse. He wondered if he should try to get something down him, then decided against that as a bad idea. If McGee had a sick stomach, he'd probably just puke it up again.

He returned to his living room and turned on his TV to Turner Classics, then booted up his laptop. Not the one he kept for show at NCIS, but his real work computer. He had a clearance that was 'higher than God,’ so he could do some research from home. He just needed to decide what he was going to research.

He was distracted by sounds of nausea run rampant from his guest room. He jumped up, hurried down the hall and was just in time to help McGee to the bathroom before he lost his stomach.

He waited until Tim sat back on the floor then offered him a glass of cool water. "Here. Rinse and spit."

Tim took the glass and did that. "Thanks." He leaned his aching head on the cool porcelain of the toilet. "Man, I feel like shit."

"Look like it too." Tony gripped Tim by one arm. "Let me help you up and back to bed."

"No, not just yet. I think I'm due another bout." He was right; he gagged his way through another bout of dry heaves. When he was done, Tony gave him back the glass and waited while he rinsed again.

"Man, that's really rough. Think you can make it this time?" Tony offered his hand to Tim.

Tim grasped it and allowed Tony to help him to his feet. He staggered a bit but Tony held him firmly until he got his feet under control. "Thanks. I feel like a... I don't know what."

Tony couldn't help the dig. "Something with absolutely no coordination at all?"

"Right. And I'm cold." Tim shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I believe that. Your temp is up. Come on, McPukey, let's get you back to bed." Tony supported his friend until they made it back to the bed. Tim crawled between the sheets and settled back down. "Better. If you think you could eat something, there's still some of that soup left."

Tim thought about it for a moment then nodded. "I think so. Just a little."

Tony hobbled into the kitchen and warmed up a bit of the soup. He just poured it from the deli container into a mug and nuked it. He returned to the sick room with the mug of soup.

"Here you go. It's not that hot, just nuked it for 45 seconds. That ok?"

Tim took the mug and sipped carefully. After several small sips, he nodded. "It's good. Not too hot and I really think it's going to stay down."

Tony settled on the foot of the bed with a sigh. "That's good. Sometimes, when your stomach is too empty, you'll puke. I think it's the body's way of getting rid of extra stomach acid."

"Might be right." Tim swallowed the last of the soup, relieved that it seemed to want to stay down. "That was good. Thanks." He blinked a few times then asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just... exhaustion, dehydration, that sort of thing. I'm going to take a shower and... stuff. You need me, holler. You got meds in..." he looked at the note on the bedside table, "half an hour." Tony took the mug from McGee and ambled out, disguising his sore feet with a casual stride.

After washing out the mug—he had to do it by hand, as the dishwasher was on the fritz again—Tony scavenged through Tim's pockets for his personals. He gathered up his wallet, badge, gun, cellphone, and pocket junk and put it in a decorative dish on a side table.

He yelled down the hall, "Probie, your pants machine-washable?"

A muffled, "Everything is. Why?" was Tim's reply.

"Because I need to do some stuff and you don't have anything clean here." Tony gathered up Tim's stuff and carried it into his tiny laundry room, wondering if Tim had really understood him.

Once there, he sorted everything and realized that he had three good loads. "Fucking laundry. I swear, it breeds when I'm not looking." He loaded in the first load and started it.

After another check on McGee to make sure he'd taken his meds, and a detour to the kitchen to take his own, Tony settled on the couch to do some work.

Several hours later, he looked up and realized that he needed some sort of lunch. He rubbed his face, mumbled, "Better check up on the probie. See if he's hungry."

A quick trip to the head and a hand wash later, "Probie, you awake?"

"Sort of." Tim poked his head out of the tangle of sheets and blankets cocooned around him. "Why?"

"I'm hungry. So... we got choices. There's some Italian Wedding Soup in the freezer, and I can make sandwiches like you did, or we can order in. Your choice." Tony leaned against the door frame arms crossed over his chest and waited while his probie made up his mind.

"Soup and sandwich, please." Tim sounded awful, congested and rattly.

Tony thought for a moment. "Go take a hot shower. I'll turn the machine off until you're done."

Tim thought about that for a second. "Ok. Clean clothes?"

"Got plenty of sweats. Pants, tee, and hoodie ok?" Tony heaved himself off the door frame and headed to turn off the washer so Tim wouldn't get frozen.

"Yeah, that's fine." Tim steeled himself and tossed off the covers. "I'll be done before you get the food finished. If not, just knock. Okay?"  
"Fine, Probie. Make sure the shower is steaming; it'll help with that congestion." He thought for a moment then announced, "I've still got that breathing thing somewhere. Bet the eucalyptus oil is still good too."

McGee just grimaced. He'd smelled the oily liquid; frankly, it stank. But it did clear up congestion. "Okay; if a shower doesn't help, I'll try it. Once."

Tony just winked, saying, "You'll use it, if it really helps. If it was good enough for me, it's good enough for you."

<><><><>.

Gibbs smiled a bit as Palmer wriggled in his seat, again. "Problem?"

"Yes. I... it's... those knots. I know I've seen them before, but I can't remember where. It's really bugging me." Jimmy sighed and forced himself to sit still.

"It's a timber hitch." Gibbs dodged a truck. The driver honked his ire, which Gibbs ignored. "Used by campers and trappers; works for any cylinder."

"Oh, campers? But?" Jimmy sighed. "Never mind."

They traveled in silence until Gibbs drew up in a parking lot that Jimmy said was a quick walk away from his class. He got out, dragged his bag out of the back seat and said, "Thank you, Special Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs just nodded, barked, "Welcome." and drew away with a screech of tires.

<><><><>.

Gibbs was back at NCIS, with Ducky. The report was one of those dismal things, replete with cruelty, that made him wonder why some people existed at all. But he now knew several things. The young man had died somewhere other than that park, just as they'd thought. He had died of strangulation. And the time was 0100, plus or minus ten minutes.

He had no idea how Ducky figured out things that close and didn't need a lecture about liver enzymes and degradation of something-or-other. He was just glad that Ducky could do what he did. "Okay, Duck, so... our Marine was killed somewhere else. Bruises say he was there for at least three, maybe even four days." He blinked into his coffee cup while he considered this. "We need to find out what he was doing. It had to be something sensitive. People torture for two reasons: fun, or profit. This does not look like the fun sort."

"No, I'm afraid not. It was a bit too serious. This boy knew something that someone wanted to know. From the strangulation marks, I do not believe he gave up his secrets. I believe that he somehow made his captors angry enough that they accidentally killed him." Ducky nodded once. "I'm afraid there may be another victim, if we don't figure this out."

Gibbs had the same feeling. "My gut agrees. I'm gonna see Abbs, see what she's come up with. If you find anything else, give me a call." he turned to leave then glanced back over his shoulder. "Ducky? I think you'll find that Palmer is a lot less afraid of me." He gave Ducky a sly smirk and walked out.

While Gibbs was visiting Abby, Ziva was wading her way through a pile of ID forms. Or rather, she was trying to. They had to have these forms completed before they could access certain databases. If McGee were there, he could do it in seconds; his clearance was higher than hers.

It really didn't make sense, as she'd see the information when McGee got it, but she wasn't cleared for access to the database. Unless Director Vance could get her clearance, which meant she had to fill out forms. She was seriously considering just breaking into the building which housed the records and copying what she needed. "Not that that would really do any good. It is probably not on paper." She snarled as the computer rejected her request again. Her Hebrew mumbling was definitely the sort that would have had her father washing her mouth out with soap.

She needed to get into that database to start trying to identify their dead Marine, so she didn't understand why she was having such trouble getting access. Then it hit her. Their Marine was in Special Ops. He had to be. Which meant... She grabbed up her phone and hit speed-1.

"Gibbs. I believe I know why our Marine was tortured. He is possibly Special Ops. If he is..." She let the rest dangle, Gibbs would draw his own conclusions.

"Ya think? Abby's hit a brick wall. She ran his prints and got zip. Classified. Dammit!" Gibbs snapped his phone shut, then looked at Abby.

She was not a happy camper. She hated it when this happened. They needed to know who their DB was, so they could start an actual investigation. But no one would let her into their databases; it was just so very unfair.

Gibbs headed for Vance's office; he'd need the Director to push things along.

When he got there, the SecNav was already there and throwing a fit. "I don't care. We have to find that Marine and now."

Gibbs cleared his throat. "I've got a UI Marine. Leon? Can you get photo #15689 up?"

Leon Vance was very computer-savvy; he'd made sure to be so. So he fiddled with his keyboard for a moment then pointed the remote at the wide screen on the wall. This brought up a picture of their DB.

The Secretary of the Navy was a tough man; he'd had to be. But he paled at the picture, and not because of the signs of torture on the man's face, but because of the face itself. "That's our missing man. Shit. This is bad. What do you have so far?"

Gibbs just met his eyes. "Not a fucking thing. Abby ran his fingerprints and got kicked out of the system. Classified. We can't do a thing until we get an official ID."

"I'll get you whatever you need. This man was involved in... Shit." He stopped as he realized that no one in NCIS had a high enough clearance, other than DiNozzo and, possibly, Gibbs. "I need to contact my people to see if we can get you high enough clearance. What is yours?"

Gibbs couldn't help a bit of a smirk. "A1." That was just about as high as you could get outside of an Omega, or 01 clearance. The only people who had that were the President and the top brass of each branch of service.

"Okay; DiNozzo is high too. And... Well, McGee is easy to get clearance for, as well as Miss Sciuto. David might be a problem. We'll just have to see." He dialed his phone and walked away for some privacy.

Just as the SecNav walked off, Gibbs' phone began to ring.

It was Tony. "Boss, I think I know our DB. But I can't for the life of me remember where I've seen him. I need access to a better picture, can you get it for me?"

Gibbs just handed his phone to Vance. "He wants a good pic of the Marine."

Vance handed Gibbs' phone back to him. "Can't do it from that antique. Tell DiNozzo to hang up and I'll send him an address."

Gibbs relayed the info to Tony and waited while they did texting things.

Tony looked at the picture he'd brought up on his smartphone. "Well, shit." He dialed Gibbs. "Boss, that's Master Gunnery Sergeant Perkins. And we're in deep shit. I'll roust McGee out of bed and be there in... about an hour, probably."

"You'll both stay right there. I'll run what we've got and get back to you. I'll have Leon do the searches." Gibbs eyed Vance who just nodded.

"Boss…"

"No; you're both sick-listed until tomorrow, at the earliest. SecNav is arranging clearances for us. What's your clearance?" Gibbs waited for a moment then demanded, "Well?"

Tony just sighed. "Boss, it's high enough that I can't tell you unless you're at least an A6."

"I'm A1, so start talking." Gibbs let his impatience color his voice.

"Well, fuck me."

"Not a chance, you're not my type." Gibbs smirked at Vance, who just sighed.

"Ok, I'm A1 too. So, our Marine might be involved in some heavy-duty ops. We have a combined op coming up—Marine, SEAL, and SAS. I don't know details, as I'm not directly involved. I'm on a different team, but we all use the same facilities, so we sorta know what's going on all over. Nothing underhanded, not even scuttlebutt. I need to get in to CenCom." Tony wondered how the hell he was going to handle this investigation by himself.

"Okay. Rest for today; make sure McGee is on his feet. SecNav is getting us clearances as we speak." Gibbs could feel Tony relax. He was well aware of Tony's concerns.

"Okay, Boss; will do. But Ziva is going to be a problem. Sorry." Tony felt bad, but Ziva's connections to Mossad were going to kick her off this investigation. She was not going to be happy about that.

Then the SecNav turned from his phone call. "Ok, I got clearance for all of your team, Gibbs. And, Jarhead?" Gibbs grinned at him. "Do not make me regret letting David in."

"I won't. She's ours now. And this will seal the deal." Gibbs gave his old friend a sly wink and headed for the door. "I know we have to move fast, but McGee has the flu, and DiNozzo is limping on blistered feet. We'll finish up here today and head down to CenCom tomorrow. That alright, Vance?"

"Yes, but... what the hell?" Leon Vance really hated being out of the loop this badly. All he knew was that DiNozzo was doing some very hush-hush stuff. And in some sort of special experimental something.

Gibbs shut the office door, but not before hearing Vance bark, "DiNozzo's a what?!"

His smile was just a bit vicious and satisfied.

"Ziva! Finish running those searches. And financials on our victim."

He settled at his desk and pecked in the info he had. "I sent all the info I've got to you in an email. Do your best. We'll have clearance by tomorrow." He gave her his best self-satisfied smirk. "All of us."

"Me too? Really?" Ziva smiled happily; she had been afraid that she'd be excluded from this investigation. "Who did you bribe, kill, or blackmail? Do you need help hiding the body?" The twinkle in her chocolate brown eyes got her another smirk.

"Don't need any help with any of that. But... if I was to need to hide a body, I'd go to Abby."

They both laughed at that. Abby was always telling people who displeased her that she could kill them and dispose of the body, and no one would ever find it. She always ended, "And leave no forensic evidence behind." Scarily, she was right.

After several fruitless minutes, in which the word 'Classified.' flashed over the computer more than once, Gibbs swore, flicked off his computer and told Ziva, "Go home and get some rest. We're not going to get anywhere today. McGee should be back tomorrow; we'll give him a shot at it."

Ziva snarled at her computer, slapped the power button, completely disregarding shutdown protocols, and gathered up her things. "I agree. And I do not understand the attitude of this brass of yours. We need this information in order to carry out our investigation. It is almost as if they wish the murderer to escape. And what about national security? I am no threat, and they know it. But they could always just ban me from the investigation and get on with things."

Gibbs sighed; he hated politics with all the passion in him. "Well, everybody has to piss in the pool. Then they all have to prove how big a fish they are. Then they have to make sure that everyone else is well aware of how important their service is. Then they decide who gets a clearance. I wouldn't be surprised if Homeland doesn't try to stick their nose in."

Ziva muttered something uncomplimentary in Hebrew, then announced, "It is not like that in Israel, we do what is needed without pissing, chest-beating or... and what does fish have to do with anything?" She gave Gibbs a 'don't mess with me' look then exclaimed, "You know? I really don't care. I'm going home and get some sleep. I'll see you here at ... ?" She looked at Gibbs from the corner of her eyes.

"0800. That'll give SecNav time to do his thing. And DiNozzo and McGee time to get themselves together."

<><><><>.

Tony was up at 0600, wishing he could go for a run. He was well aware that that bit of foolishness was a good way to, one, get him a major head-slap and, two, set back all the healing he'd accomplished. But he was restless.

He knew that something really bad, bad on the TARFUN level, was going on. He also knew that they were the only team qualified to handle it, when they got the clearances. Until then, they were just marking time, precious time that he was getting the feeling they couldn't afford to waste.

If he called his contacts, he could speed up the process, stepping on major toes on the way. Vance didn't like him, for some reason he still didn't understand, and that made going directly to his commander a very bad idea. Going over the head of someone who didn't like you in the first place was a very bad idea. Too bad that it looked like the only way they were going to get anything done.

"Shit!" Tony picked up his phone, put it down, picked it up again then nearly jumped out of his skin when it rang. "DiNozzo."

The voice on the other end just informed him that his team was due at CenCom at oh-eight-hundred. All of them. He eyed the phone for a second then shoved it into his go-bag.

"McGee! Probie! Wakey, wakey; we're due at CenCom in two hours. You up for this?" He stuck his head in the door to see his partner poke his head out of his cocoon of blankets. "Up! Or are you still McPukey?"

Tim visibly thought about that for a few seconds. "I'm fair. Still feel tired, but I'm good to go. Fill me in on what I missed while I take a shower."

"Ok. We can stop at a local for breakfast burritos or something on the way in."

Tony was glad he'd gotten laundry done the night before. There was no way that his clothing was going to fit McGee. He was taller by 4 or 5 inches and, while he was heavier, it was all muscle, so his clothing would be not only too long but too big.

McGee sighed; he was going to have to put on dirty, sweaty clothing over a clean body. Never good, and now, really bad. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but Tony was going to fill him in soon and he had a feeling that he wasn't going to like most of it.

He was right. The second he was in the shower Tony said, "Okay, McGee, do not freak. I'm not in the mood. Our Marine was involved in a combined effort: Marine SpecOp, SEAL, and SAS. I know a bit about what was going on because I'm a SEAL myself. I'll have to repeat this later for the Boss, but... The SEALs had been losing good men due to PTSD, so the psych boys figured out that most of the men that got it bad were of a certain personality type, like me, so they started a program that put men who were in danger into an off-duty... I'm not explaining this very well. Just, guys like me, we can't relax when we're not on a mission. We over-train, obsess about all sorts of stupid stuff, and wind up unfit for duty. This job, for me, allows me to decompress, believe it or not, and stay duty-ready without a lot of questions. I mean, who's going to question an NCIS agent jogging and visiting a gym? I'll leave the details of our investigation until we're all together."

Timothy McGee was anything but a stupid man; he had two masters, a bachelors, and a PhD. He'd attended MIT at the age of 16, so he wasn't about to say the first thing that popped into his head. Instead he just said, "Well, that explains a lot. And I'm not asking any questions. Navy brats all know better."

Tony couldn't help the smile, even though his friend couldn't see it. "I forgot, you are a Navy brat. Dad's an admiral?"

"Yeah, Mom and I figured it out once; I'd only actually seen him for about three years, total, on my twelfth birthday. He'd been home for my third, eighth, and that one. I used to see him an average of three months out of a year." He stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped firmly around his waist. "I'm sure he loves me, but he really doesn't understand me. He really was disappointed when I didn't go into the Navy, but ... asthmatic, seasick sailor? Yeah, right."

Tony shook his head. "Asthma is nothing to mess with. But there are shots for seasickness."

Tim shook his head, "Don't work for me. Razor. And my clothing." He made a face at the thought of putting them back on.

"In the drawer. And put that yuck-face away, Probie; I did laundry last night, so your stuff is clean. Remember?"

Tim smiled at that. "Not really. Thanks, Tony, I really appreciate that. I really wasn't looking forward to putting dirty clothing back on." He eyed Tony's sweats. "You better be getting cleaned up and dressed yourself."

"Showered while you were still asleep. I was up at ... about 0500; it's only 0645 now. I'll leave your stuff on the bed." He heaved himself off the edge of the counter and ambled out the door to get sorted.

He knew that they were stepping into his stomping ground, so he decided to dress in SEAL black. Most Navy wore the NWU—Navy Work Uniform, a digitized blue-and-gray camo—for daily wear. But SEALs wore black. If anyone asked, Navy personnel would shrug and say, "They just do." But everyone knew it was a way of warning, 'Danger; handle with care.'

He put McGee's clothing on the bed, then went to rearrange his go-bag. He needed to put some other things in, refill evidence bags and gloves, and a few other things, like energy bars, packets of rehydration powder, and first-aid supplies. His go-bag had to have those things now. He didn't have to make do anymore.

He had to laugh a bit; his go-bag weighed more that Gibbs' did. Not that that was much of a problem; he regularly force-marched twenty miles with a full battle pack that weighed in at around eighty pounds. He carried more at times and less at others, but eighty was a good average weight to keep in shape.

"McGee! We need to be on the road in fifteen!" Tony just yelled down the hall. The apartment below him was empty, as were the ones on either side. The one across the hall was occupied, and the one above him. He wondered idly what was going on; the building was four floors with eight apartments on each, but only eight apartments in the whole building were occupied.

Tim broke into his pondering by calling back, "On my way." He checked his weapon, holstered it, and went to join his friend.

Tony looked him over. "How do you feel? And don't give me any crap."  
"Okay. Not great, not even good. But I can do my job. My head is still stuffed up, but other than that," he shrugged. "I'll do."

"Okay. Let's get going." Tony headed for the door.

"On that note, how are your feet?" McGee watched Tony walk but didn't see any sign that his feet hurt.

"Big boots, two pair of socks. I'll be fine. I heal fast, especially with that cream. It's got silver ions in it. Real magic cream." Tony waited for the questions.

McGee nodded his understanding. "I read the initial findings on that. It's expensive, but... isn't it still in the testing phase? I know there are bandages on the market, but a cream?"

"Still in testing. Just call me guinea pig. My pod is testing it." He couldn't believe that McGee didn't have a ton of questions. "Read a paper on it?"

"A couple. It really is a 'magic' cream. I'll be glad when the final testing is done; it'll be a real boon to people with all sorts of skin problems and open wounds." He grimaced. "But enough of that. We better get going."

Tony glanced at his watch, made a face, and agreed. "We taking your car? Or going by NCIS to get a company car?"

"NCIS. Boss'll have a fit if we take off by ourselves."

Tony suddenly grumbled, "Well, shit. McGee, my car's at the Yard. Give me a lift?"

"Of course. You shouldn't drive anyway."

Tony considered that for a moment, doing a physical assessment, as he'd been taught. "Concussion has cleared up. I could drive, if I needed to. Let's go."

And with that they hurried out the door. The drive was accomplished in about thirty minutes, and they met Gibbs and Ziva coming out the door as they were getting ready to go in.

"We better put some wheels under it, or we'll be late." Gibbs popped the trunk and tossed his go-bag in. Tony couldn't help it; he reached in and picked up the bag, hefted it once, then tossed it back, adding his own. Ziva and McGee followed quickly, and they were on their way.

<><><><>.

The drive to the Yorktown Naval Weapons Station in Yorktown, VA didn't take that long. It was only 140 miles or so, which meant Gibbs' driving got them there with minutes to spare.

They showed their ID and badges at the gate, then DiNozzo directed them to a building that looked like a parking garage. It wasn't. It was the above-ground entrance to the East Coast SEAL CenCom. Gibbs only had one question: "How the hell do you make that commute at need?"

"Chopper." Tony grinned into the rearview mirror.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs glared back via that same mirror.

"Ok, ok. I keep a chopper at that airport off the Yard. I drive in, leave my car in the hangar, and fly over." He grinned, then added, "Or, if the weather is nice and I have time, I ride over on my motor."

McGee couldn't help asking, "You really have a helicopter?"

"I do. It's a two-seater. A RotorWay ExecJet. It's little, easy to land almost anywhere, and I'm certified on an Apache..." He shrugged. "So, it just makes life a little easier. I'll take you up sometime, if you'd like?"

"I would."

Further conversation was not possible, as they were at the interior gate to the complex. Tony showed his ID, then got out as the man at the gate saluted him.

"We'll leave the car here. Get your bags and come on."

Gibbs popped the trunk from the driver's seat. They all piled out and grabbed their bags.

Tony took off his watch and shoved it into his pocket. He hated the designer watch; no matter that it was expensive, it always made him flinch. It was one of those Gucci things with no numbers, no functions except to be expensive, and no character.

They signed in, leaving signatures, fingerprints, and retinal scans at a check-in station. They had to show their NCIS ID, but, after registering them, they were allowed to keep their weapons, although McGee had to leave his personal computer. Ziva set the door scanner off twice, much to Tony and Gibbs' amusement and the presiding Petty Officer's annoyance.

As Tony strode through the inner door, he snapped, "My watches done yet?"

"Yes, sir. Armory One has them, sir." The seaman on that door saluted smartly. Tony saluted back with an easy gesture.

"Ok, thanks. People! We need to go this way first. You," he glanced over his shoulder at the seaman. "Tell command that I'm in-house."

"Sir!"

Gibbs felt a bit out of his element with this new and improved Tony. He finally got a good look at his 'hash' and blinked. "Lieutenant Commander? Good work."

"Thanks." He stopped at a door and announced, "Here we are. Come on in."

He opened the door and yelled, "Hey! You dead yet, old man?"

A forty-something man popped his head around a shelf. "No, you young idiot. Got your watches. Managed everything you wanted, even in the small case. Got recipients, or just wish you did?"

Tony shoved his team in the door. "Got recipients right here. Gibbs, David, McGee." He pointed to each person in turn. "And that old squid is Master Chief Petty Officer Grigs." He saluted the man in return of his salute then got down to business. "Ok. Here." He picked up one of the watches that the Master Chief had proudly set on the counter. He examined it carefully then handed it to McGee. "Put it on. It's water resistant down to ..." He turned to the MC and waited.

"Thirty-three hundred, plus or minus. Might as well call it waterproof, unless you're a scuba expert. Like?" Master Chief Grigs gave Tony an expectant look.

"I do. Very nice. Excellent machine work. Titanium?"

"You bet. And for the pretty lady?" Master Chief Grigs smiled expectantly at Ziva.

"Tony, I cannot let you give me such an expensive present." Ziva gave the watch a longing look. She really did want it but it was obviously very expensive.

"Don't worry about it. You're pigging it for us." Ziva gave him a blank look. "Guinea pig. American expression meaning allow us to experiment on you. In this case, see how the watches stand up to real life. Thanks."

Ziva nodded, "Well, in that case, I believe it would be all right." She accepted the watch from the Master Chief and fastened it around her wrist.

McGee was happily examining his watch, but Gibbs was not that pleased. "Christ, DiNozzo. Does it have to be so fancy?"

"Yeah; diver's watch with all time zones programmed in, and a bit of this and that. It's also impact-resistant, real white sapphire crystal..." He snickered. "Yeah, Boss, how many watches did you go through in service?"

"A fair few. So. Time Zones, I get, but what else?" He just knew there was something very special about these watches. SEALs got just about anything they wanted; if it didn't exist, they invented it.

"It's got a GPS tracker and a yelper built in. It's also got a workout timer, pedometer and rep counter." Tony was understandably proud of this, he'd done all the blueprints and schematics himself. The manufacture had been done right here in the machine shops.

Ziva blinked. Again, she was stymied by slang. "A yelper? It barks like a dog?"

The Master Chief laughed softly. "Israeli?" Ziva nodded. "Slang is hard, don't let it get you. Explanation, a yelper is a device that gives off an electronic signal that tells people who know how to look that you're in trouble. This one is turned on like this." he pointed to a small hidden push bar under the bottom pin plate of the band, the area where the band joined the watch proper. "You pry this up with a nail and push this in. Now, the batteries are pretty good; the men's is good for about 32 hours of continuous broadcasting, the ladies' a little more than 20. I couldn't get more out of a battery that small but, Lieutenant Commander DiNozzo is a real pistol. A simple adjustment, and the yelper broadcasts for one hour, then shuts off. After that, it broadcasts for fifteen minutes every hour on the hour."

McGee examined the watch again. "All that in this? That's great work. Really. But ...who has the receivers?"

"We do, Probie. The receivers are in the dedicated satellite we use for observation." Tony watched as McGee finished fastening his watch.

Gibbs just shrugged and put his on. "Nice work. You did a good job, Master Chief. Thanks, DiNozzo."

Ziva also thanked Tony, saying, "Yes, thank you very much. It is very nice."

McGee just grinned.

Tony returned the Master Chief's parting salute then led the way deeper into the complex.

They signed in again at a check station by the elevator, then yet again at a heavy metal door.

When that door opened, Tony stepped through and barked, "Medal of Honor on deck! Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs!"

Every man in the room stood up, turned to face them and saluted.

Gibbs usually hated that sort of thing; but, when it was from men who knew what these men knew, he didn't. He returned the salute then growled, "DiNozzo."

"Can't not. These guys would eat me alive if they ever found out I'd let them miss a chance to salute a Medal of Honor. Now... this way." He walked down the narrow aisle between computer stations. The small monitors showed all sorts of things, from BUD/s activities to maps with tiny, moving vehicles. No one even looked up; they'd taken enough time from their work.

The next thing that happened was a bit unfortunate. A man that Tony had no patience with inserted his obnoxious self into the mix.

"Whoa, Badger, who's the pretty lady? Very nice." The man gave Ziva a lecherous once over.

Tony just glowered at him then said in a hard, cold voice, "Agent David, if he so much as looks like he's going to touch you, break his fingers."

The man stepped back, hands raised, "Man, AJ. You know me. I do not poach. All you had to do was say, 'Hands off.'"

Tony just chested him and snarled, "Ok, I'm sayin' it. Hands off, numbnuts." He turned and smirked at Ziva. "Lady Mossad, after you."

Ziva smiled, slow and sweetly deadly, at the man. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander DiNozzo." Her attempted tormentor slid away, tail between his legs.

He didn't miss the fact that both Gibbs and McGee were giving him the stink-eye.

Tony addressed the man standing behind him. "And that is why I really want that man on the mats."

"You got it." The older man, Captain Rafe McKinley, was the East Coast commander of the SEALs. He was a well set-up man, about the same age as Gibbs, with the same sort of attitude, but better manners. Sort of.

His next words made Ziva chuckle. "I think I just might let Lady Mossad take your place, though."

Gibbs decided he'd had enough waltzing around. "Ok, now that the social niceties are done ― SitRep."

And with that, all playfulness was put aside as they got down to business. Captain McKinley didn't mess around with any departmental rivalries. "Ok. That Marine, Master Gunnery Sergeant Perkins, was in on some very high-level planning. A combined mission with SAS and Marine SO. If you need to know more details, I'll supply them. I'd rather not until we're sure you need to know. Any other information you need is probably in this file." He fiddled with an iPad for a moment then sighed. "Ok, who does not have a PDA, iPad, or other data device?"

Gibbs just glowered at him. He hated those things; he liked paper so that he could annotate in the margins. "Me. Don't like 'em. I'm still a tree-killer."

The Captain just turned to his aide and said, "Paper for Special Agent Gibbs."

The aide just produced a paper copy of the report. They all settled down to read.

When he was finished, Tony went back to recheck a few facts—he'd indexed them as he went. Now a cross-reference program, written by someone, made it easy for him to realize that they really needed to find their people quickly.

"Well, shit. We're in a hurt locker unless we find out how, who, and when. And how much, if anything, our guy spilled."

Gibbs finished his reading, put down the folder and said, "Well, TARFUN's the word. We'll have to bring several people in for questioning. DiNozzo?"

Tony agreed, "Got the list right here. We'll use Conference Room Three. If we need interrogation, we can take them up to Maine."

McGee looked blank. "Maine? What's there?"

Tony gave him a look that made him gulp. That particular look made Tony look dark and dangerous. "SERE."

Ziva snorted. "You can't take someone up there just on a whim."

"Nope, but Gibbs can order it. Right, Boss?" Tony nodded in Gibbs' direction.

"I sure can. And I will. Haven't done SERE in ages. But I haven't forgotten." His look matched Tony's. Matters of National Security were taken very seriously by NCIS, and this MCRT. "There's something here that is, as Abby would say, hinky."

Tony grumbled, "Majorly. But I can't put my finger on it."

McGee rolled his eyes, glanced at Gibbs and Ziva, then remarked, "There's too much blood in our caffeine systems. I'll make a coffee run if someone will tell me where to go."

The Captain motioned to his aide, "Show him where to go." The aide just motioned for McGee to follow him.

Ziva got up to pace, crossing Gibbs, who was pacing the other way. Tony just sat, still as a hunting tiger, and stared at his iPad.

Their biggest problem was, they didn't have a starting point. That was so important. When had Perkins been shanghaied, where from; not a clue to any of that. They were going to have to start with nothing and build something.

Tony glanced up as a computer tech sitting at a station just outside the door swore violently and slammed his fist down on his desk. Tony started to get up as McGee had skittered away from the explosion.

But Tim was made of sterner stuff than most expected.

"Hey! Don't abuse the equipment. What's wrong?" McGee glanced over the man's shoulder only to have him shield the screen.

"Sorry if I scared you. But... classified A5. Can't let you see unless your clearance is higher. Besides, you'd have to be a genius tech to figure this out." He smiled to take the sting out of his words then glanced at Tony. "He your geek?"

"Yeah, he's my geek. Let him take a look. His clearance is high enough." Tony just grinned at the man. "He's one of those sorts, all-purpose genius. He'll kill your problem with extreme prejudice."

"Okay." The tech moved out of the way. "Have at it."

McGee settled at the station, typed for a moment then explained, "Oh, see. This is one of those counterintuitive programs. You have to solve the logic bomb and remove it at the same time. If you want to analyze it, I can make an isolated copy. But, once I do the job, it's just gone."

The Petty Officer just shrugged, "We need to trace it. That's on the board and underway as we speak. Just get it out of there. I'm not even sure how it got in, in the first place."

Agent McGee typed for another moment or two. "Got in via some idiot not isolating his station when he started working on the home computer. This thing is probably all through your system now. You're in a world of hurt come 2400."

This pronouncement led to the Petty Officer’s hurrying away from the station. Tony got up and leaned over McGee. "How bad?"

McGee just sighed. "Could shut down all your operations, everywhere. Not good. How many units do you have in the field? And don't actually tell me; just think about all those men without support." He eyed the screen for several seconds. "That could be the whole reason for that operation. I'd like to see some details."

Gibbs took over. "No, you deal with that bug. DiNozzo, David, and I will investigate this."

McGee resolutely did not tell Gibbs that their 'annoyance' was probably either a trojan or a worm. Or a virus mounted on a worm.

Ziva got right on the ball. "Where did the malware originate? How did the source get into the building?"

Gibbs turned his head to look at the Captain. "McKinley?"

"Well, shit. This is a Charley Foxtrot for sure. That computer..." He turned to his aide who was on the phone with someone in a different location.

"Sir, that computer belonged to..." he pressed his phone closer to his ear. "Dammit! The evidence tag is missing. They're checking now." He closed his phone, a disgusted expression on his face. "They'll get back to me."

McGee stuck his head in the door. "Boss, I need my laptop. They kept it at the gate as an unauthorized personal machine. But it's got all my sweepers on it."

Captain McKinley just jerked his head at his aide. "See that he has it ASAP."

The aide, a Lieutenant by the name of Sam Brown, got up from the corner desk he'd just sat down at and motioned to McGee. "Come on, I'll take you down so you can collect your computer yourself. I know how you guys are. I'd rather loan my toothbrush than my rifle; I'm sure you're the same about your computer."

McGee just smiled, a little shamefaced, and said, "I've got mine locked down so that you can't even turn it on without a password. Keeps the natives from playing wipe-the-disk with it."

Lieutenant Brown looked intrigued. "And how do you manage that? Where did you find that program?"

McGee just answered, a bit absently, "I wrote it. I got tired of having to check my computer at every Podunk cop shop and getting it back wiped or tinkered with." He finished his sign out and turned to look at his companion. "Why?"

"We could really use something like that. I'll put you in touch with procurement. We'll pay what it's worth." Lieutenant Brown was impressed, and as aide-de-camp to the head of East Coast SEAL's, that was quite an accomplishment.

McGee collected his computer, then was stopped at the inner door by the seaman stationed there. "Here, sir. I need to cut off the seal."

McGee glanced down and realized that his messenger bag was held closed by a seal much like the ones truckers used to ensure that their loads weren't tampered with. The zippers were all held closed by a wire run through the eyelets on the tabs. The wires had been threaded through a disk of lead, then the lead had been crimped closed with the Navy SEAL eagle-and-trident badge.

"Wow! First time I've seen that. How do I get it off?" He watched with interest as the seaman used a special tool to cut the seal in half, ruining it. "We cut the seal instead of the wires so that no unauthorized personnel have access to a means to copy it." He finished with the last seal. "There! Here you go, sir." He handed the bag back to McGee with a smile.

"Thank you, Seaman. I wonder?" McGee thought carefully. "Do you know if I could get something like that?"

The seaman looked at Lieutenant Brown who just nodded. "I don't think you would want to carry this machine around with you; it's pretty heavy. But there's something similar in plastic. Takes a special cutter to get off. And they are available from almost any company that manufactures container seals. We could get you something really distinctive." he looked at Lieutenant Brown again.

The Lieutenant smiled and told him, "I'll see to it. We better get back before Badger comes looking."

McGee gave him a blank look, "Who?"

"AJ; we do tend to use nicknames or war names around here." Lieutenant Sam Brown chuckled a bit then finished, "And would it surprise you that my nickname is Belt?"

McGee thought about that for a moment, snickered, then admitted, "Nope."

They were just finished with the final sign-in when Tony came looking. "There you are. I thought you might have gotten lost."

McGee explained about the seals as he set his computer up at the station he'd been given. He ended by saying, "I'm going to find someone to make me up a batch of those plastic ones and get a cutter. I'm sick of having to check my computer and finding that someone has messed with it."

"I'll see to that for you. Belt?" Tony turned to the aide.

Lieutenant Brown just nodded. "On the list. Agent McGee, if you need anything else, let me know. And... I didn't notice, how do you take your coffee?"

McGee replied absently, "Two sugars a twelve-ounce cup. Thanks." Then he disappeared into the bowels of the CenCom computer system. He came up for breath about three hours later to ask, "Is the origin still available? I've got a program purging the virus from the system, then I want someone who's more familiar with the programming to go over everything. But I've got it."

Tony gave the room one of his brilliant smiles. "That's my Probie. Genius, MIT."

Gibbs just stood in the background and smiled. Ziva patted him on the shoulder.

Then Gibbs got that look on his face, the look that meant he was on a good scent. "What if Gunny Perkins didn't have to tell anyone anything? What if... McGee, check that computer, now. Find out who it belongs to."

McGee didn't question his orders; he just glanced at a man standing next to him. "You know where that computer is? I need to see it."

"Got you in one. Someone's bringing it up from the lab right now."

Gibbs glanced at the Captain. "Please tell me you didn't sanitize the Gunny's apartment."

"We did not. No one else has either. One of your teams came and worked it. Vance insisted. And what is with that man? He's got a hate on for Badger, and I just don't get it."

Gibbs just shrugged; he didn't really know what Vance's problem was either. Morrow, then Jen Shepard had liked him, even when he was at his most annoying. But Vance didn't like any of the “old-timers” much. He was all for the newest and brightest, even though they didn't have much street-smarts to share amongst them. "No idea, but it's gonna come back to bite him in the ass, sooner or later."

Gibbs poked at something, some thought that just wouldn't jell. He got his phone out and dialed Abby. "Hey, Abbs. Got anything for me?"

Abby did have something for him. "Gibbs! That Gunny was taken right out of his apartment. They used chloroform; got a piece of gauze with residue on it." She babbled on about the forensics for a while then finished, "I just hope you find out who and why soon. That poor man. I really feel sorry for his family and all and..." She crossed her arms and huffed irritably: Gibbs had hung up on her. And done it before she could try to pry Tony's big MOAS out of him.

There was a MOAS, she was sure of it. And she hated it that her best male friend hadn't told her first. But, she'd find out sooner or later.

Gibbs related everything Abby had told him to the rest of the team. Tony and McGee seemed to just wander off, while Ziva pulled a knife out of somewhere and a whetstone, and began sharpening it.

All the SEALs just ignored them, going about their business almost as if they weren't even there. This was because they were all doing threat assessments of various enemy activities in different theaters in the Middle East. Most of their assessments would be “minor annoyance,” but some would necessitate sending in a team to deal with some overt threat or other.

Tony smiled; he had it. "Got it, Boss. The Gunny was killed, not to get information out of him but to get us to bring his computer in. When we connected it to our main diagnostic unit, it downloaded a worm that went through the system, installing a virus as it went. McGee got it out again."

Gibbs nodded over his cup of coffee. "Good coffee." Lieutenant Brown just nodded back and bent over his note-taking again. "So, they tortured this man for three or four days just to convince you to bring his computer in?" He sipped coffee as he thought that over. "Ok, I can see that. But why did they want the systems crippled? Who's up to what? And how did they pick him as their target? I don't think it was random."

Captain McKinley thought that over then, allowed, "I think it had to be someone who knew what op he was on. This combined effort is really important. If our systems went down during that, we could lose the whole team. That's a lot of men. It would put SAS down six, SEALs down eight, and Marine SO down eight. Doesn't sound like a lot, but they're all senior agents. The only reason AJ's team isn't on this is because they've been back-to-back-to-back for six months. This last op was the last one they're going on for at least three months. So..."

He didn't get a chance to continue, Gibbs did it for him. "Lieutenant Brown, any input?"

The Lieutenant thought for a moment. "Not just yet. I know this is technically your investigation, but... let me make a few calls. I'll get a list of names of anyone in planning that has... dubious connections. Take about an hour."

Gibbs, surprisingly enough, just said with considerable restraint, "Ok. An hour. Coffee," got up, and walked out.

He hated turning any part of his investigation over to someone who was not on his team, but he knew that some of the Lieutenant's informants wouldn't talk to him or anyone on his team. He really hated dealing with highly classified investigations. There was so much that they needed to know to do their job that was so classified that they couldn't know it. He was reassured by the fact that he was dealing with SEALs, instead of hidebound 'middle management'. And three hours of picking at a bunch of nothing, looking for something, while McGee did computer things had him really wanting coffee.

As he nearly charged down the corridor toward the mess hall, Tony followed behind, yelling, "Make a hole, Marine coming through."

Men jumped aside, “making a hole” for Gibbs and his team to move through. Or part of it. McGee was still working on the mainframe. It was a bit surprising that he was allowed, but SEALs got what they wanted, when they wanted. And right now, they needed their systems swept and secured. And Timothy McGee was the man for the job, so he was allowed to do it. He never realized that the man in the next station was keeping track of every keystroke; one wrong one would have resulted in a quick trip to Leavenworth and a solitary cell. But he didn't realize, or make that keystroke.

Gibbs went to the coffeemaker and got another cup. He sat in a corner and watched the room. Tony settled beside him with Ziva at the end of the six-man table.

"Well, Boss, what now? We've sort of hit a dead end."

"I know. Don't like it much either."

Ziva offered, "I could call my father. He must know something; he might even share it." Her doubtful tone belied her words.

"Leave that as a last resort. We'll work with what we have. Some terrorist group wanted that bug thing in SEAL CenCom. We have to figure out which one, track them, and put an end to whatever they're up to." Gibbs glowered into his traitorous, empty cup then grumbled, "I really hate waiting around, doing nothing."

Tony just snorted, "You know the military, Boss: hurry up and wait."

Ziva nodded. "It is the same thing in Mossad. Most annoying."

They were joined by a couple of men who knew Tony, but they called him AJ.

"Hey, AJ, is this Gibbs?" The man was olive-skinned, brown-eyed and built as a SEAL should be. He was heavy through the shoulders and deep in the chest, with a flat abdomen. His legs were strong, with thick thighs and good calves.

"Yeah, you animals, this is Gibbs. That's Ziva. McGee is still in the pool, dealing with something really nasty." Tony eyed his companions then pointed. "That is Remiel Devereaux, Remy to a few poor fools. My bud." At Ziva's confused look, he explained, "My partner. We hooked up in BUD/s."

Next he pointed to a tall, thin blond with blue eyes. He was built like a runner, all long legs and torso. He looked too thin, but Tony said, " This long drink of water is Cosmo Richter. He looks like a strong wind would blow him away. I don't know how he stays that thin, because he eats like a horse. But he's stronger than he looks and very fast. Munitions expert among other things."

Cosmo just nodded, saying, "Call me Cos."

"And last but not least. Dean Cale, the all-American boy. Only don't let him get behind you. He's our stealth expert." Dean was the epitome of the All-American boy. He actually looked a lot like Tony; a bit shorter, but they could be mistaken for cousins, at the least. His hair was light brown; hazel eyes, in a lightly freckled face, smiled back at them.

The one thing that Ziva noticed about all of them was, they were remarkable in their averageness. They all had the sort of face that, once studied, was pleasant to see, but one glance and no one would be able to describe them as other than well built, bland, and average. Unless you got a good look at their eyes—then they were downright scary.

She smiled at the three men and got smiles in return.

Tony knew his team well. "Okay, you animals, if one of you hits on Lady Mossad, you'll be on the mats with me. Hands off."

The three men groaned but backed off. "Selfish, that's what it is." Dean eyed his commanding officer with some ire.

Cosmo and Remy agreed. Gibbs glowered. "If he doesn't convince you. I will." They all noticed the steel in his eyes.

Ziva, well aware that she'd wound up in the middle of what Tony called a pissing contest, just offered them one of her sultry, sly little smiles. Then she purred, "And calling me Lady Mossad is not a joke. Ziva David."

All three men backed off. None of them wanted to get on the wrong side of the legendary AJ DiNozzo. Gibbs was also a legend. But Ziva was an unknown. That made her dangerous, too.

Gibbs got up. "We need to get back and see if the Lieutenant has anything for us."

Ziva grumbled, "Gibbs, it's only been half an hour. Give the poor man time to do his job."

Tony agreed, saying, "It won't do us any favors to be up his nose. He'll call me when he has something. Until then, I suggest I show you around a bit."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs knew he was an impatient man. That he had been an excellent sniper just meant he'd learned to control it. Most of the time. He'd also learned when impatience worked as a spur and when it was a foolish mistake. In this case it was a mistake. "Ok, we'll just wait for a call."

 

 

 

<><>chapter four<><>  
Next chapter up. You won't find out anything else about the coin in this story, it's setup for another.

 

Back in the computer center, which all the SEALs called the Pool, Timothy McGee was deep in conversation with several of the IT techs. It had gotten so technical that even some of the other techs were lost. Then McGee announced, “Look, I know you all think it’s some kind of joke but WOW is hard. And I’m a high-level lord, so I ought to know. But that’s not the point; the point is that some of their programming is so elegant that I wanted copies so I...” and he was immersed in jargon again. 

Suddenly one of the techs yelped, “You’re him! You’re ElfLord! Oh my God!”

And with that a dozen SEALs were treating him like royalty. He couldn’t help but preen a bit. Then he was back down to business. “Ok. Look, kowtow later, work now. You’ve only got... what? A dozen stations? I need to get to each one of them and check the local memory. Just in case. So I need... coffee.” He started to get up. “I’ll just run down to the... mess hall and get some.” One of the techs offered to go for him, but he refused, explaining, “I need to get up and walk around a bit. Won’t take me more than ten minutes.”

And that was how he was nearby when someone jumped on Tony.

The guy just appeared out of nowhere, running out of a nearby doorway. He jumped Tony, yelling, “Got you!”

Only he didn’t; have Tony, that is. Tony grabbed him by the shoulder of his shirt and his belt, used a hip throw to dump him on the floor and put his knee in the other man's throat. “No. No, you don’t.” Tony got off him then said, “And, if you’ll kindly remember, I’m not in that game. Look around.”

As the Chief Petty Officer stood up, he looked around to find himself faced with several side arms pointed directly at his head, and one very pissed off Ninja-chick with a knife. “Oh, shit!”

Gibbs snarled sourly, “Ya think?” and holstered his arm. 

Ziva twirled her knife around her fingers then tucked it away—somewhere.

McGee holstered his arm and demanded, “What the hell?”

Lieutenant Commander DiNozzo explained, “There’s a game around here. It’s supposed to keep people on their toes. You pick a target, register your intent with the control officer, and then try to jump them for a pin. If you make the pin, the other man, who is also registered, has to buy you dinner. I’ve opted out, did it years ago, but some people just... don’t get it. I swear they’re suicidal.” He eyed his opponent for a moment. “You... me... mats... twenty minutes.”

There was a concerted moan from several men nearby. One, standing behind everyone else, which made him brave, called, “You’re so dead, dude. AJ’ll hand you your ass.”

Tony called back, “So right, dude. You want a dose too, Caldwell?”

“No, don’t want anything to do with it. Thanks so much.” The sound of rapidly retreating footsteps made Ziva snicker.

Tony turned to her. “You think it’s funny?”

“Oh, no. But I always knew you were holding back on me. Now I know why.” She smiled at her partner and friend. “But I do think it was bad of you. Better a bruise from a friend than a death strike from an enemy.”

“I don’t fight fair. I don’t use any particular form. When I told Gibbs I’m nothing but a street fighter, I wasn’t kidding. I based my style on Krav Maga, but it’s... not recognizable.” Tony just shrugged, then motioned for them to follow. “I need to get changed; come on.”

McGee sighed, “Tony, I’d love to, but I need to get back to the Pool. I’m not done yet. I just came down to get coffee. Sorry.”

Tony nodded. “Too bad. But what you’re doing is ’way more important than watching me hand some idiot his ass. Get your coffee, though.”

“Thanks. I’d almost forgotten. That was a bit more excitement than I was expecting. See you.” Tim went into the mess hall to get his coffee, ignoring the looks of interest he was getting from several SEALs. 

There was no way he was SEAL material, being more nerdy than not. He was physically not in their condition. But all the men who’d seen him draw down on the CPO had seen ‘it’ in his eyes, the ability to pull the trigger if needed. They’d respect him for that, if not his considerable computer skills.  
<><><><>.  
When they got to the gym, everyone broke up into fighters and spectators. This meant that Gibbs, Ziva and a few others went into the gym and found seats. No one was allowed to stand on the edges of the mats for obvious reasons.

Tony led several other men into the locker room and emerged a few minutes later looking like exactly what he was: a SEAL. 

The regulation Navy PT uniform was a bright yellow microfiber long sleeve t-shirt with Navy in reflective letters back and front. The dark blue shorts had reflective piping down the sides and the Navy seal on one leg. Tony wasn’t wearing that.

Instead he was wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt with SEAL on the front and back in white reflective letters, and black pants with AJ on one leg and Badger on the other, set between wide reflective stripes. He wasn’t wearing boots, just soft martial-arts shoes.

“Ok, who’s on my shit list?” He smiled nastily, an experience in evil that his team had yet to experience. He looked to one side then started calling out names, four of them. “Where are you? Any excuse, argument? And don’t lie, evade, or hide. The only excuse for not manning up is injury or absence. Or on duty.” As he called the names he didn’t bother to look up from putting on a pair of regulation MMA gloves.

All four men moved to the back edge of the mat, the one away from the bleachers and spectators. They all looked miserable.

Gibbs leaned a bit toward the man seated next to him. “How bad is this going to get?”

“Pretty bad. Those two made some sort of remark about his boss being a Gyrene and the big guy, well, he made some nasty crack about someone named Abby? He is so toast. That last guy just jumped him in the hall. Last idiot that did that got a broken leg. So, he’s gonna put ’em down hard. At least he won’t kill ’em. I hope.” 

Gibbs only had one more question. “And you get away with this... how?”

“We depend on each other a lot. He’ll take his own men down even harder, because we need clear air between us. If a guy feels like it’s not a valid beat-down, he can argue with it. Even AJ will listen, unless he loses his temper. If he does, my advice is to cut and run like hell. But, in a situation like this, the fight is to get rid of hard feelings, not create them.”

Gibbs gave the man a doubtful look then allowed, “I guess you’d have to be one of us to get it.” He nodded his head to Ziva and lapsed into silence.

Ziva, for her part, had already dismissed understanding any of this as being testosterone-driven posturing. 

Tony flexed his muscles, testing his readiness, a luxury he didn’t always have. “Ok, first up.” he pointed to a man about his size, first name called and the first on the left of the line. “Don’t like my boss at NCIS, or just the fact that he’s a Marine?”

The man hung his head and muttered sullenly, “He’s not one of us. It’s just that simple.”

“He is, though. He’s just retired instead of dead.” And with that, the fight was on.

It didn’t last long. Tony bored in like a thunderbolt, fists and feet flying. His opponent covered up, trying to withstand his first rush. It didn’t work. AJ DiNozzo knew how to fight, so all it took was a couple of punches to weaken the defense and a swift kick to the ribs to break it. Then a few punches to the abdomen left the Petty Officer kneeling on the mats, gasping for breath. “Ok, one down.” He patted the kneeling man on the back. “We good?” He got a nod in return, as the PO hadn’t gulped in enough air to speak yet. “Next!”

The second man just shrugged and went at Tony like a whirlwind. He was good. Nearly as good as his opponent. It just so happened that Tony was better. As the Warrant Officer charged, Tony ducked under his hard jab and buried his fist in the other man’s stomach, tossed him over one shoulder and planted a foot on his chest. The WO groaned, then laughed softly, “Fucker.” 

Tony helped him up. “Ok. We good?”

“We’re good. Sorry and all that.” The WO grinned, slapped him on the shoulder and limped off the mat to get the rest of his breath back. 

Tony looked at the next man, who just sighed and said, “Not fightin’ ya. Like my head where it is. What else?”

Tony thought for a moment. “She needs a lab assistant, general gofer and dogsbody. You’ll do it.”

“Ok. Anything but fight you.” And with that the CPO ambled off toward the locker room.

Gibbs just wondered aloud, “And how the hell does DiNozzo expect to get Abbs to put up with him?”  
Ziva shrugged, “She will do anything for Tony. Even put up with a lab assistant.” Ziva looked at her boss for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Especially if you ask too.”

Gibbs just grunted his agreement and turned his attention back to the fight.

The last fight was the one with the CPO who had jumped Tony only a few minutes before. 

This one, Tony took more time with. He took up a boxer's stance and waited for his opponent to make the first move. The MMA gloves he was wearing were padded over the back of the hand, extending from the middle of the palm to the first joint of each finger. This allowed for, not only boxing, but grappling as well. It was unfortunate for the CPO that the gloves were intended to protect the wearer's hand, not the opponent.

The CPO moved in with confidence, jabbing at Tony’s face. Tony reacted with a mock sorrowful face, “Oh, Dude, you so did not.” His reply punch staggered the CPO but didn’t put him down. Then the real point of the fight came out. Tony was going to make an example of this guy. The rest of the fight was a simple object lesson. Tony beat the CPO just hard enough to really hurt him, without putting him out of the fight. The CPO replied to Tony’s body shots with panicked jabs to the head, most of which missed. 

Gibbs watched with interest. He was well aware of exactly what Tony was doing; he’d done it himself. Now, all they had to do was look out for hard feelings. Gibbs didn’t see it being a problem; the man had asked for it, after all.

Ziva just watched the fight with the eyes of Mossad. Tony was very, very good. Much better than he let on at NCIS. In fact, he was so good that Ziva felt a bit afraid of him. The intensity of his concentration, his attack, and his vicious response to his opponent's efforts was something she hadn’t expected from good-natured, goofy Tony. She had a lot to think about.

Tony finished the fight when he was sure that not only his opponent but all the spectators had gotten his point: he wasn’t interested in the game; his reflexes were much too dangerous for playing around. He didn’t knock the breath out of this man, he pinned him in a combined hold, part choke, part neck-breaker. All he had to do was shift his hands up a bit and jerk― broken neck, dead opponent. The CPO clapped out quickly.

“Now do you see why I opted out?” Tony stood up, stepping away from his opponent quickly. A medic hurried out to check both men over.

He gave Tony a quick once over, leaning in to speak softly to him. Tony just shrugged then nodded. The medic then went to check the CPO over.  
The CPO had a slight problem. It seemed that Tony had probably cracked a rib. The medic took his new patient away for x-rays. But before he left the CPO went to shake Tony’s hand. He said something that caused Tony to gift him with one of his truly brilliant smiles and pat him on the shoulder. 

Gibbs got a bottle of water from a cooler nearby and took it over. “DiNozzo, you’re gonna kill someone with that shit.”

“Boss, the whole point is to keep from killing anyone. I opted out of the game for exactly the reason I said: I could kill someone if they jump me like that. Even though I know I’m safe in CenCom, reflexes don’t have any brakes.” Tony took the water and gulped down half of it in three swallows.

Gibbs nodded his understanding. “Some of these guys are just so damn young.”

Tony agreed. “Not in age, ya know? But in... maturity. They’re all good men, just... they still haven’t learned that they’re mortal.”

Gibbs looked into Tony’s eyes and saw that look that some men got. That look that said they knew they were better than anyone else at what they did. The look of a warrior, confident in his skills and ready to use them at need. Ready to do or die. A look that Gibbs saw in the mirror every day. A look that Tony had hidden until now. “Finish that water and get cleaned up. McGee should have something, or Abby.”

Tony did as he was told and tossed the bottle into a bin. “On it, Boss.” He voiced the idea that had emerged while he was fighting. “This is looking more and more like it was aimed at SEALs as a whole, rather than any specific op. Opinion?”

Gibbs shrugged slightly. He’d had time to think, letting his subconscious work on the problem while Tony fought. He had come to the same conclusion. “You’re right. So... now we find who the inside man is. If there is one.” He met his 2IC’s eyes. “If not... we find our killers and send them to Gitmo.”  
Tony grinned in a savage way that made his eyes glow green. “If they survive first contact.”

Gibbs returned the look, his blue eyes fierce. “There is that. Go.”

Tony ambled off.  
<><><><>.  
When he reappeared, he was limping slightly.

Gibbs and Ziva noticed at once but they were surprised to see that Tony’s three teammates also noticed.

Dean glanced away then back. “Boots?”

“Yeah. Leaked sand like a mother. I tossed ‘em.”

Remy grumbled, “Bad review?”

Cos nodded. “I gave ’em a two.”

Tony winced dramatically and drawled, “Oh, did you, now?” He eyed the three men up and down. “You supposed to be hanging with me?”

Remy grinned. “Nope. Supposed to be down in Tac analyzing something or other.”

“Well? Get where you’re supposed to be.” Tony didn’t even bother to look at them.

Cos whined, “Aw, AJ, not when you’re fightin’.”

Dean agreed, “Especially when it’s not us.”  
Tony shook his head, grinning. “So... which one of you stupid squids wants to meet me first?”

All three took off for wherever they were supposed to be at a dead trot, expressions of dismay laughingly plastered on their faces.

Tony just shook his head in amusement then said, “They’re the best there is, except when they’re goofing off.” He chuckled a bit, then added, “And then... they’re still the best. Come on, we better see what Probie is up to.”

Ziva gave Gibbs a worried look. Tony seemed to be taking over and she was concerned that Gibbs would be offended.

“Ziva, it’s his ground. I’m just along for the ride.” Gibbs gave Ziva one of his secretive, sly half-smiles and went after Tony. He was just along for the ride, this time. This was a side of his lead agent that he didn’t know. Observation was his trademark, and observe he would.

Tony, for his part, was well aware of what his Boss and friend was up to. Gibbs hated being out of the loop, and he was ’way out of it on this one. Tony just hoped that he hadn’t destroyed their friendship by keeping his secrets for so long. He tried to ease a concerned glance by Gibbs. He knew it didn’t work

Ziva was allowed to go into the Pool first. 

Gibbs grabbed Tony by one arm, turned him around and pushed him into the wall, hand gripping his shirt, forearm pressed into his hard chest. Tony looked into his eyes and waited.

“We’re good. You got me?” Gibbs didn’t want to put this off too long. He wasn’t going to give Tony time to work himself into a brood.

Tony nearly sagged in relief. “Yeah, Boss. Got ya.” He gripped Gibbs’ wrist for a moment. Gibbs dropped his arm. “Ok. We need to figure out for sure if Gunny Perkins was collateral damage or a target. Any ideas?”

And, with that, the confrontation was over. They were good.

As they parted, someone stuck his head out of the Pool and exclaimed, “Well, if you two are done... Digimon wants you.”

Tony blinked. “Who?”

“Digimon! You know... Tim. He’s got something. He explained it, but...” The man shrugged, “I’m too low on the totem pole to understand. Come on.”

So they went in to hear what McGee had to say.

He immediately handed files around, one for each of them. “It’s not easy, but it is simple. I...” He glanced at Gibbs, who gave him a ‘get on with it, no geek-speak’ look. “Ok, boiled down. I ran several searches for information, cross-checked them, and came up with... our Gunny was collateral damage, of a sort. The reason he was picked was that he was at a level that, when something happened to him, the first thing that would be done was bring his computer in and see if it had been breached. It was, but it wasn’t evident, so the second thing that was done was what they wanted. All his data was downloaded into the mainframe for analysis. Trojan, worm, and all.”

Gibbs thought about that for a moment, then voiced the question that most of them had. “So why torture him?”

Ziva came up with the answer. “So that no one would wonder why he had been killed. If he was tortured, it would be... um... obvious that someone wanted to know something that he knew. The answer to that question would be in his computer. Impetus to download everything for analysis. Yes?”

McGee nodded. “Exactly. And I did get a bit of something on who our perps are. A home-grown terrorist group unoriginally called The Sons of Freedom. Someone,” he made air quotes, “hid their signature on a photo. Some sort of territorial marking thing.”

Ziva frowned, then offered hesitantly, “That does not sound like any Muslim group I know of.”

“Sons of Freedom are a radical group that feel our government is too large, too into everyone’s business, and see SEALs as a foundation group in a drive to subdue objection to the subjugationist government we now have.” They turned to look at Lieutenant Brown, who was reading from an iPad. “Okay, no other information. No leaders, no... nothing. They’re all over several radical publications, but no real intel is available. It’s all in the civilian sector, so we don’t really have jurisdiction.”

Gibbs got a nasty glint in his eye. “But we do. Ok, people, we’re heading back to NCIS.”

Captain McKinley got up, saying, “Before you go... Lieutenant Commander DiNozzo, there’s a change in your orders. It’ll make things easier on your NCIS team. You’re allowed to tell that you’re a SEAL. The risk assessment states that, due to the nature of NCIS, the risk is minimal that you’ll have much trouble with loose lips there. You’re still not allowed to tell which team. That good?”

Tony gave him a megawatt grin. “That’s great. Takes a big strain off everyone. Now, maybe Vance won’t hate me so much.”  
<><><><>.  
Leon Vance was nobody’s fool. He was Director of NCIS because he could do the job, even if it meant being the villain of the piece. He’d done things he didn’t like for the good of the service. He went politico every year for budgetary conferences. He kissed ass with the SecNav to keep his people as safe as he could. But once in a while, he made a mistake that was an easy fix.

At first, all he’d seen was the man who’d left Jenny Shepard out to dry. On further investigation, he’d found that she’d ordered both agents away. Then all he’d seen was a clown with occasional flashes of brilliance. An out-of-control agent who came in hung over four or five times a year, but otherwise did good work. In other words, an unreliable loose cannon.

Cindy got the call she’d been waiting for and paged Vance. “Gate says that Gibbs and team are in the building. That gives you about six minutes.”

Director Vance thanked her on his way through. He stood on the mezzanine until he saw Gibbs' distinctive gray head move out of the elevator, followed by DiNozzo, McGee, and David.

“Special Agent DiNozzo, I would like a moment in my office, if it’s convenient.” Vance didn’t wait to see if he was followed, he just assumed he was.

Tony nodded to Gibbs, “I’ll just get it over with.” He followed the director up the stairs, clearing them in several energetic bounds, his frat-boy swagger gone.

He went through Cindy’s office and into Vance’s.

“I owe you a real apology. I looked but didn’t see. I assumed, and you know what that does.” Vance gestured for Tony to sit in one of the very comfortable visitors’ chairs.

Tony settled and waited. Vance was going to have to do all this himself.

“All right. I saw what you wanted me to see, I think. But... how the hell can you come in looking hung over?” Vance was still puzzled about that. All he’d ever been told was that Tony was involved in undercover work.

“Why don’t you just quote facts, and I’ll answer what I can.” Tony had no idea how to answer Vance’s question other than let him ask for details.

“Well, let’s start with the month after you came back from Agent Afloat. What the hell were you doing to come in looking like you’d been run through a grinder?”

“Um...” Tony rubbed the back of his head. “Let me see. Mogadishu? Maybe. Or... No, definitely Mogadishu. Came back with three cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, wrenched knee... I think that’s all.”

“So, every so-called hangover, sports injury, and so on, came from a mission?” Vance felt like he’d been punched.

“Just about. There was one time my chute didn’t deploy properly on a training mission. Wrenched my knee, dislocated my shoulder.” Tony shrugged. “The usual.” He stood up. “We done now?”

Vance stood up too. “Yes, we are definitely done. I’ll be amending your jacket.”

Tony couldn’t care less about that. “Well, do what makes you feel better. And get off my ass, will you?”

“Off, as of now. Unless you deserve it.” Vance just stuck a toothpick in his mouth and went to his desk to go over Tony’s official records, his jacket, and repair the damage he’d done.  
<><><><>.  
Tim McGee was nothing if not a total expert at hacking. In this case, he didn’t have to hack; all he had to do was ask. He took a moment to review the file he got, smirked, and sent it on to HR and Vance. He kept a copy on his iPad. Gibbs got a copy as well.

He skimmed it quickly, ignoring mission details that he didn’t quite understand but reading injury reports carefully. He glanced at Tony’s awards list and sighed. The man was almost as highly decorated as Gibbs. He’d traded three Medals of Valor for Gibbs’ Medal of Honor; other than that, he was also a bit ahead in Purple Hearts.

Vance read it, page by page, then sealed it in his personal files. He felt even worse now than he had before, and the fact that the SecNav was now up his nose about his attitude didn’t make him feel any better.

HR didn’t bother; they put the file in Tony’s confidential file and forgot it. 

Gibbs read it and felt his chest swell with pride.  
<><><><>.  
Abby was not a happy person. The fact that Tony had a MOAS and hadn’t shared it bothered her. Jimmy Palmer even knew it, sort of. Ducky for sure.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Tony called, “Abby!”

Tony braced himself as Abby threw herself into his arms with her usual exuberance. “Tony!” He hugged her back.

“Ok, let me see.” Abby eyed Tony up and down. “Black? Nice. And all that ...” she waved a hand. “stuff. Pretty.”

Tony laughed, “It’s called a rack, Abby.”

Abby looked at it then asked a very good question. “I thought you weren’t supposed to wear that on a daily.”

“Not usually. But, in the SEAL’s, we’ve got so many men of the same rank we have to have some way to figure out who’s top dog. More missions, more awards, more rank. So we wear what’s pertinent.” 

Tony endured another inspection with good humor.

“So that’s your MOAS? You’re a SEAL?”

“That’s right. Mad?” Tony gave Abby his best puppy eyes, wibble lip.

“No. I’d really rather not see you in Leavenworth just to satisfy my curiosity.” Something binged. “Now go. My babies call.” Abby waved her hands and trotted over to a machine.

Tony decided that he’d better ‘fess up now. “Um... Abby? I might have gotten you an assistant.”

“What?” Abby’s shriek would have shattered glass, except it was all bullet proof.

“Well, this guy... he made fun of you. Then he wouldn’t fight me. He wanted some other punishment, so I said he had to help you. It’s only for one day and you can pretty much do whatever you want to him. Make him clean everything. Or just stand in a corner until you need dumb muscle. Please?” 

Abby thought about that for a moment. “Weelll, ok. But... what are his qualifications?”  
Tony got out his phone and fiddled for a moment. He looked at the screen then handed it to Abby. “There. He’s a munitions expert. Knows his chemistry. That good?”

Abby glanced at the information then nodded. “He’s good enough. But... I’m warning you. If he turns out to be some sort of nut job, I’m going to hurt you. Bad.”

“He’s no crazier than I am. I promise. And, if he really annoys you, I’ll kick his ass.” Tony sent a text to the man. “His name, by the way, is Petty Officer Jones. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Ok. Now get out of here before I make you rearrange my supply closet.” Abby checked something on the mass spectrometer and scowled. Tony left. That expression usually meant Abby had a hinky result; the temper tantrum would not be pretty. She tended to yell.

He left in search of Ducky. He knew where he should be, but that didn’t mean he was. Ducky was the Chief ME, which meant he got bodies from several teams, so he might be in the field. 

He wasn’t. He was in his office, doing paperwork. 

“Ducky? Got a sec?” Tony smiled as Ducky turned around. 

Ducky smiled and pointed to a chair. “Please, do sit down. Mr Palmer is coming with some tea. Call out to him to bring another cup, if you will.”

Tony leaned the other way and caught Jimmy’s eye. He smiled when he realized that Ducky had slyly installed a small hot plate in a safety zone. Palmer was standing there, waiting for the water to boil. He held up three fingers then made the ASL for cup. Jimmy nodded and turned to pour the now boiling water into the pot.

When they were settled with their tea, Tony cleared his throat, started to speak then sipped his tea instead.

Then Ducky reached over, patted his shoulder and asked, “SEAL or SpecOps?”

“SEAL. But ...” Tony let his expressive eyes finish his question.

“How did I know? Oh, my dear boy, I know a lot of things. Old Boys’ School.” He reached into his pocket and put a coin on the desk top. It was a simple thing, bronze and about the size of a quarter. One side had a shield on it with a sword superimposed across it. The other side had five stars in a circle around a script S; there was room for one more star.

Tony eyed the coin for a moment then took one very similar out of his own pocket. His was less worn and battered, and the obverse only had three stars on it. 

Ducky managed to look sad and a bit smug at the same time. “Jethro, doesn’t know?”

“No, I kinda keep that to myself.” Jimmy started to say something then looked at Tony with obvious pride. “Yeah, I trust you to know. Keep it to yourself. Ok?”

Jimmy smiled gently and nodded. “Mum’s the word. I keep out of that. I know about it because of Ducky but I’m not ...” He shrugged and fell silent. 

“I’ll need to tell Gibbs too.” Tony sighed, he was feeling a bit out of sorts; too many secrets getting out too quickly, it put him off-balance.  
“Now, now. Don’t upset yourself. Just have your sponsor tell him.” Ducky sipped his tea, relieved that he’d given Tony a way out of having to face Gibbs over this.

Tony put his empty cup down. “Don’t have one. Haven’t for... six years now.”

“Oh, dear. What happened?” Ducky looked very distressed at this news.

“KIA. He was also my SEAL commander, before I moved up.” Tony thought for a few moments. “You think Gibbs would take me on?”

Ducky sighed, “We can but ask him, my boy. I’ll be glad to stand for you.”

Gibbs' voice from the door of the tiny office asked, “Stand? What’s up?”

Tony just picked his coin up from the desk and handed it to Gibbs. 

“Oh. You want me to meet your sponsor?” Gibbs found that he didn’t like the idea of Tony being sponsored by anyone but him.

Tony gave his news again. “KIA. Six years ago. Haven’t had a sponsor since.”

“I’ll sponsor you.” Gibbs had often thought of sponsoring Tony in the Spartans, but had assumed that he had one, if he was a Spartan at all. Then, of course, there was the fact that he’d known Tony was hiding something. He’d never believed that crap about girls and drinking saki bombs with his frat brothers. Now that he knew what was actually going on he would gladly be Tony’s sponsor. 

Jimmy Palmer looked from one man to the other. Ducky was smiling proudly, while Gibbs’ level gazed just waited for an answer.

Tony gave it easily. “I would welcome your sponsorship. Thank you.”

Jimmy was a bit disappointed that this was all the ceremony there was. But, you couldn’t have everything.

 

 

 

<><>chapter five<><>

Tony settled at his desk and started making a list of everyone their victim had had contact with over the three weeks before he'd been taken. If this didn't pan out, he'd go back farther. He knew that in most of this sort of kidnapping, the victim was kept under surveillance for no more than a month. That was long enough to find their weaknesses, establish their habits.

Once he had a list of names, he'd give them to McGee. So he started calling everyone the man knew, everyone in his phone book on his cell. It was going to be a long day.

McGee, for his part, was going through all the emails to and from Gunny Perkins, for the last six months. He was going to sort his contacts by number of mails sent and received, then eliminate family and close friends. Or, rather, Gibbs was. Gibbs was going to go out with Ziva to question a few people, get the reports the PD had written, and scope out the Gunny's neighborhood.

Their efforts duplicated each other in a few places but they were going about it from different directions. Some anomaly was sure to show up, a clue to who had taken their man.

After several hours of work, Gibbs leaned back and sighed. "We're done for the day. Go home, people." He and Ziva had returned near 1500 and settled down to work on their notes. It was now 1830, everyone was tired, and, despite his reputation, Gibbs knew that tired people made stupid mistakes.

If it had been a case of kidnapping with a live subject, they'd stay until the job was done. But this case didn't seem to be time-sensitive yet, so Gibbs sent them home to rest.

<><><><>.

A call the next morning saw them headed back to SEAL CenCom in the big SUV that would hold them all. Tony, to McGee's relief, drove.

They were greeted and signed in by Captain McKinley himself. "We've done a bit of our magic and come up with a few things. Thought you'd have a better time of it here. Not so much of a chance of someone who shouldn't be overhearing things." He led the way in without further comment.

Tony just grinned his way through the corridors. He was proud of his team, both of them actually, but especially of his NCIS team. Gibbs noticed and did a bit of discrete smiling himself.

They were led to a very well-appointed small conference room and given the reports the Captain had mentioned. They all settled to read their files, either electronic or, especially for Gibbs, paper.

After a team meeting, in which all the data was combined into a whole that made sense, they looked at each other in disgusted horror.

Tony voiced everyone's thoughts. "You mean to tell me that some bunch of... of homeland terrorists, who just don't like SEALs, for whatever reason, tortured and killed a man just to get his computer into CenCom? Like... I..."

Ziva nodded. She felt a bit detached from the heartbreak, as this sort of thing happened in Israel more than she liked. "Yes, I am afraid so. They do not care about individuals, just their so-called cause. In this case, I am not quite sure exactly what that cause is. It seems to include destroying SEALs as a whole. Their objective, in this case, was to inform the Taliban of the combined operation by infiltrating the computer system, downloading all information on the operation, then crushing the computer system."

McGee corrected her automatically, "Crashing. But Ziva's right. And they nearly succeeded. I'm still trying to find their home base. It's in the states, somewhere, in South Carolina, maybe."

Tony scowled at his iPad. "I don't really care who they are. All I care about is the fact that they are committing murder by torture, treason, and... I'll think up the rest of the charges later. I'm sure we can nitpick enough crimes to keep them in prison for a very long time."

Gibbs agreed, saying, "If they don't wind up dead first. That sort tend to... throw themselves on their swords."

Ziva looked confused, "I don't understand. Why would they use swords instead of fire arms?"

McGee just mumbled, "Metaphorically speaking. Boss means that they'll fight us until we have to kill them. Martyrs to the cause."

Ziva, who had translated the phrase into Hebrew and back, now understood exactly what was being said. "Yes. And we have to avoid that. It gives them great recruiting leverage in the future."

McGee just looked blank, saying, "Huh?"

Tony eyed Gibbs, who just shook his head, thought for a moment then explained, "If we kill them, we give their cause martyrs, symbols of the... whatever propaganda they're spreading. A rallying point they can point to and use as a reason to espouse their agenda." 

Tony grinned, "Gee whiz, Boss, didn't know you knew such big words." Gibbs smacked him on the back of the head. "Ow! Thanks, Boss." Gibbs knew the thanks was for more than the smack. Keeping things as normal as possible was a good thing, just now.

Gibbs snorted, drank coffee then demanded, "Ok, so how the hell do we find these terrorists? McGee? Ziva?"

Ziva blinked for a moment then asked, "Totally off topic but... why am I Ziva while McGee is... well, McGee?"

Gibbs just shrugged, "David sounds like a man's first name, while Tim and Tony are too similar." He went back to his coffee, frowning into space as he made associations in his head.

Tony grinned at someone over Ziva's shoulder. "Phelps? Help you?"

The Chief Warrant Officer nodded. "Yes, you can. My helper chickened out. I need a subject."

Tony shook his head. "Concussed too recently. Ask Officer David." he nodded at Ziva.

Ziva shrugged. "I would be happy to be your subject, Chief Warrant Officer Phelps."

CWO Phelps eyed Ziva for a moment then hesitantly said, "Yes, well, ma'am. Um... some of those guys can get pretty rough."

Ziva glowered. Tony just snickered then barked, "Sic 'im, Lady Mossad."

Ziva stood up and was across the table before CWO Phelps could react. She had him in an arm bar lock, on his knees, in a flash. He yelped but, wisely, relaxed in her hands.

"Ma'am! Sorry, Ma'am. I give." He slapped the floor with his free hand, signifying that he surrendered.

Ziva let go at once, stepping back as she straightened her clothing. "Excellent. I shall see you in the gym in a few? Yes?"

As she left, Tony turned to Gibbs to ask, "How do you feel about a combined op? SEAL and NCIS?"

Gibbs glowered at a file for a moment. "Good. But... McGee, he's not in that kind of shape."

"And you are?" Tony couldn't help the 'left hook'.

"Might be... in about two weeks." Gibbs wasn't about to ego stroke himself, ever; but especially not now. "I'm in reasonably good shape, run about 15 miles a week, lift..." he shrugged. "I can be mission-ready in two weeks, easy."

Tony nodded. "Sorry. Didn't mean to insult you. Just... McGee? Mission-ready in two weeks? Maybe not."

"Not worried about Ziva?" Gibbs had thought that Ziva would be more of a problem than McGee.

"I've seen her work out. She runs as much as I do, and she works out in the NCIS gym at least three times a week. I'll sit down and work up a training schedule. You good with that?" Tony was well aware that he was very close to stepping on Gibbs' toes.

Gibbs just shrugged, "You're the Phys Ed major. I'm just a grunt."

Tony gave that remark all the dignity it deserved: he made a rude noise. "No Gunny is ever ‘just a grunt.’ I'll work up the plan; it's up to you to make sure everyone sticks to it."

"Ya think?" Gibbs' wry remark and return to his coffee closed the discussion.

<><><><>.

Ziva followed CWO Phelps into a small office. He nodded to her office wear and said, "I really don't see you working out in that. It's too nice to ruin. Sizes?"  
Ziva told him, expecting some sort of sweat suit or shorts and t-shirt combo. Instead, she was given a pile of sand-colored clothing, much like what she had worn during training in Mossad. "Try these on. One of the Supply Sergeants got them. We do try to be prepared." He grinned at her and left.

She found that the pants fit, but the shirt was one size too big. She smirked a bit; it would hide what Tony called 'a multitude of sins'. In other words, her knives and holdout. She was pleased to find that the boots were perfect.

When she finished changing, she carefully put her clothing in her ever present go-bag.

She said, "I'm ready," to the waiting escort, then followed him as he led the way to the gym.

While Ziva was getting changed, Tony, McGee and Gibbs were doing the same thing, in the locker room.

Since it was actually against Navy regs and Federal law for females to be SEALs in any capacity, there were no arrangements for women in CenCom. That was why Ziva had been taken to an office while the men used the only locker room.

They were all provided with BDU's or NWU's. Gibbs got Marine woodland camo, while Tony got SEAL black. McGee wasn't the problem some people might think. He got plain desert sand-colored pants, t-shirt and button-down, with a rather humiliating 'civilian' designation where rank badges and patches should have been. But it would keep him out of trouble, unless he brought it on himself.

While they were getting dressed, a PO handed Tony something, which he took, then inserted into a compartment on his watch. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, so Tony explained, "Med info. I'm always being asked for it, but we have to send for it, and that just holds everything up. It's a new idea. No one but authorized personnel can get the slot open; most people won't even notice it."

Gibbs just nodded. "Ok. Just be sure."

McGee glanced from Tony to his watch then checked to see if he had a similar compartment. He did, so he decided to download his medical at the earliest opportunity. It could only be a good thing to have his allergies and asthma documented. A call to NCIS would give the hospital ER the information to retrieve the chip. Retrieving the data was a no-brainer; finding the chip was not.

Tony noticed McGee's examination and told him, "You've all got a slot; any micro SD data card will fit. And most medical files only need about two meg or so."

Gibbs gave Tony an assessing glance then remarked, dryly, "And you know this because?"

Tony blushed. "Mine's a bit bigger than most." His return stare told him to drop the subject. Gibbs did, but only after smirking at him. His knowing look made Tony curl his lip at him in a most unusual, un-Tony-like, way.

Ziva joined them as they came out the door.

"I am ready. Exactly what are we trying to accomplish?" Ziva knew that she wasn't the usual sort of consultant, so she needed to find out what was expected of her.

Tony got a quick look at Gibbs, but he looked his usual phlegmatic self. Just as he was getting ready to go find him, CWO Phelps walked up.

"Ok, we ready? Miz David, what I want to accomplish here is to wrong-foot some guys. They're getting way too cocky. It's gonna get 'em killed."

"I see. Further explanation, if you please." Ziva had a good idea where this was going, but she wanted to be sure; mistakes could be not only embarrassing, but deadly.

CWO Phelps looked pleased. "Fine. These guys are good—not great, but they'll do. Only problem is, they're not learning because they've gotten cocky. They're all in their first year or two of service with SEALs and they've gotten... overconfident. I need you to break that confidence down a bit. Not shatter it, just..."

Gibbs smirked as Phelps fell silent, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted. "You mean just scuff the polish a bit. Make 'em realize that they're not the be-all and end-all."

Phelps looked relieved, "Exactly. Thanks, Gunny."

Ziva smiled, that tiny satisfied smirk that made her look so sexy. "Yes. This is not an uncommon problem in Mossad as well. I know exactly what you want. I can do it without... truly damaging them. Just... as Gibbs said, scuff the polish a bit. Make them aware that there are things out there that are much more dangerous than they look." Her sloe-eyed, sultry half smile, and flirtatious wink made CWO Phelps gulp.

"Oh, man, are those guys toast." He grinned back then, motioning for them to follow, he turned and entered the gym.

Gibbs took a place on the risers near the mats. Tony joined the small group of SEALs that gathered on the other side of the mats. He grinned at Gibbs then winked. Gibbs settled in to watch the show. He did wish for a cup of coffee.

McGee took his time, looking around with a wistful expression on his face. He really wished he could join Tony but he was well aware that he wasn't in their league. Or even in their general area. He noticed a small room off to the side and was pleased to see it contained a coffee pot. He went to get a cup for himself and one for Gibbs.

"Boss." McGee handed over the coffee with a grin. "I can't wait to see what's going to happen. I just hope she doesn't embarrass them too much."

Gibbs took a healthy swig of coffee, nodded and replied, "She won't."

"You gonna fight, Boss?" McGee hoped Gibbs might say yes.

"Might. There's a still a couple a' good punches left in this old Marine." Gibbs settled to watch Ziva and Tony work. This was going to be good.

And it was. Phelps introduced Ziva as a 'guest' from Mossad. Then offered to allow her a chance at a bit of a workout.

She dimpled prettily and nodded, pony tail swinging.

Phelps called up her first opponent (read victim) and the mayhem started.

The SEAL was huge, and cocky, he ambled into the middle of the mats and just stood there. Ziva did the same thing, only she smirked until she'd goaded the MCPO into attacking her. Then she dumped him on his ass. Twice. The second time she smacked him in the forehead hard enough to bounce his head off the mat. If the mat hadn't been there, he'd have been knocked out.

Phelps called, "TKO! Stand down."

The MCPO got up, rubbing his head. He laughed, then announced, "Ok. I got my ass handed to me. Next!"

Ziva gave him one of her best genuine smiles. "I am pleased to see that there are no hard feelings."

"No, ma'am. Only feeling is me feeling like an idiot." He grinned at her, then returned to his place in line.

The next up was a smaller man who seemed to think he had some martial arts skills. He did, as he had an orange belt in his art. It was just that Ziva was better. Krav Maga was a 'mixed' martial art, after all.

Ziva made short work of him as well. He tried some fancy kicking on her and wound up with her slim, strong hand wrapped around his ankle. She jerked, he stumbled and she flipped him onto his belly and pinned him in an arm lock with her foot on the back of his neck. He slapped out, smacking the mat with the palm of his free hand.

Ziva hopped off him and stepped away quickly. CWO Phelps nodded his approval, announcing, "And you see that she got away from Blackmon quickly? Lady Mossad doesn't take chances. Next."

There was a bit of pushing and whispering, then Tony stepped forward. He grinned, that goofy one that disarmed people, and told Phelps, "Looks like I'm the next in line. Everyone else has crapped out on you." He tucked his hands into his armpits, flapped his arms and made clucking noises.

Someone called out, "I'll take you on instead, DiNozzo."

Ziva smirked. She'd always felt that Tony was holding out on her, taking it easy when they worked out together.

"Well, Lieutenant Commander DiNozzo?"

Tony just sighed, muttered, "Well, fuck. Damned if I do, fucked if I don't." The chuckles that followed him to the mats made him grimace.

Gibbs, realizing Tony's problem, called out, "No quarter. Either one of you. Got me? And no hard feelings.”

Ziva nodded, Tony just cracked his neck and waited.

This was one of those fights that didn't look like much, just two people staring at each other, twitching now and then. But it was deadly. Tony waited for Ziva to make her move, then made a counter before she could finish the move. Tony replied with a counter move that barely got started before Ziva replied.

This went on for several tense minutes until Ziva got annoyed and finished a move she shouldn't have. This left her open to a short jab to the short ribs that put her on the mat, gasping for breath.

Tony immediately knelt beside her. "Zee?"

"DiNozzo... you're... holding out... on me." Ziva panted, trying to get air past her semi-paralyzed solar plexus.

Tony just rubbed her back until she got her breath back.

Then he stood up and looked over the small group of SEALs. "Now you see what we've been trying to tell you. Small and helpless-looking, doesn't necessarily mean that they are. A kid with an AK can kill you just as dead as a grown man. Do not fall prey to the idea that you are the be-all and end-all of the universe. You'll get yourself and, worse, your teammates, killed."

Ziva managed to get air back into her lungs and struggled to stand. Tony helped her to her feet with a tentative smile. Ziva punched him in the stomach; not really hard, just hard enough to make her point. He grinned, mouthed, 'Sorry.' and put an arm over her shoulders. She just laughed and replied, "You hold up on me again… I will make you sorry."

"It's hold out and... I won't." Tony let his relief at Ziva's acceptance show. She smacked him on the shoulder and went to sit by Gibbs.

Tony turned back to Phelps. "That what you wanted? Or," he eyed the group with a particularly feral smile. "do I get to kick major ass?"

"No; no DiNozzo smackdown needed." Phelps shrugged, "I think they've learned their lesson. Right, gentlemen?"

The resounding, "Sir! Yes, Sir!" made him smile.

"Dismissed. Twenty laps from all of you. Go!"

McGee, thinking of a standard track lap, said, "That doesn't sound like much."

Tony corrected him. "Laps around the Grinder. One mile flat run, dead out, then a hilly section interspersed with various exercises. Push-ups, crunches, dead pull-ups ... stuff like that. They'll be dead on their feet when they're done. Serves them right."

Ziva cocked her head. "They are all in very good shape. Why are they in trouble?"

"Because they're not team players. They all want to be, or think they are, the star of the SEALs." He looked around and saw that only Gibbs understood. He tried again. "SEALs have to be individualistic team players. We have to be able to follow orders from our commanders but able to make and carry out plans on our own. And be able to tell when it's time to switch from one to the other. Those guys don't get it. We're breaking them down, hopefully to build them back up better SEALs. I hate to lose some good men because they've got a hero complex, or got too individual to work with a team."

Ziva nodded. "I see. It is much like that in Mossad." She sighed and rubbed her side. "You pack quite a punch."

Tony was immediately apologetic. "Sorry, Zee, need a medic?"

"And you are offering?" Ziva wasn't about to put up with his amorous attentions when she was... well, ever.

"No. There's a real doc around here somewhere. Need him to take a look?" Tony ignored her challenging look. He was going to have to start living down that frat-boy image and glad to do so.

"No, I do not believe so. If it still hurts in an hour or so, I'll have someone look at it. Right now, I just want some tea."

Tony signaled to a Corpsman nearby; he came over, not taking his time but not hurrying. "Sir?"

"Can you get the lady some tea?" Tony kept his face carefully neutral. He didn't want to make it an order as Ziva was not in the chain of command. It wasn't proper.

"Yes, sir. Ma'am?" The Corpsman turned to Ziva. "What kind of tea do you like?"

"Rooibos, if you have it. Anything, if you don't." Ziva gave the man a grateful half smile.

"On it, Ma'am." The Corpsman walked off. He returned a few minutes later with a SEAL mug with a string dangling out of it.

He gave the tea to Ziva, saying, "I hope this is ok. All we have is bag stuff but it's raspberry rooibos." he offered her some packets of sugar and sweetener.

She took the cup with a soft 'thank you' and also took two sugars.

Ziva was on the last of her tea and Gibbs and Tony were both just done with their coffees when a Petty Officer came to Tony, whispered in his ear then left again.

"Gibbs, need to be in Briefing Room Six in ten." Tony stood up and walked away.  
Gibbs followed him with his eyes for a moment, then got up. McGee got up too; Ziva nodded to Gibbs, then went after Tony.

She caught up to him in the small coffee room. He was speaking to the corpsman, so she turned to leave. But her sharp ears caught her name, so she stayed.

"She really okay?" Tony's voice held a hint of worry.

"She is. She's holding herself a bit to one side to protect an injury. But I’d be willing to swear in court, she's not bad hurt. Bruise at most. She'll be fine in forty-eight. She's combat-ready now." The Corpsman's voice sounded calm.

"Good. But she's gonna kill me. Sooner or later, she'll get her evens." Tony sounded mildly worried.

Ziva walked right into the middle of the conversation. "DiNozzo. Corpsman." She waited until she had their attention. "I. Am. Fine. DiNozzo, stop it. If I was hurt, unlike you, I would admit it. The sooner you get medic’ed, the quicker you heal."

The Corpsman grumbled, "You tell 'im, Ma'am." Then he poured himself a cup of coffee and walked out.

Tony eyed Ziva for a moment, then gave up. If Ziva wanted his ass, she'd get it. Then he grinned. He had 'broken silence,' so now he could use his SEAL skills to keep her from doing a number on him. Maybe.

"I do not like that smile. It reminds me of the time you glued McGee's keyboard. Do not prank me. If you do, I will hurt you. SEAL or no."

Tony held up his hands in the palm-out, universal sign of surrender, plastered a 'who me?' expression on his face, and said, "No prank, as long as you don't start something. Deal?"

Ziva nodded. "Deal. We better get going. Gibbs will have a fit."

"Right behind you."

<><><><>.

They made it to Briefing Room Six in good time and stood around for a few moments. At a word from some Admiral that they hadn't met yet, they settled in chairs to wait for some intel.

The Admiral didn't wait long. He activated a 3-D screen, then said, "I am Admiral Taylor. Gentlemen... and lady..." Ziva smiled. "We did a bit of aerial reconnaissance, via satellite; we didn't want to stir them up with a chopper. Here's what we have." He zoomed in on a parcel of land. "This is the compound of..." he grimaced in disgust. "The Sons of Free America, or The Sons of Freedom, take your pick. They have taken it into their heads that destroying SEALs is beneficial to the US. Why? No idea; their rhetoric is more than a bit confusing. Something about government interference in private life and overbearing officials, and a bunch of other stuff. Looks like several small splinter groups merged for some reason. Anyway, their first strike was to be the combined exercise, Marine SpecOps, SAS and SEALs. They were going to take all our computers offline, then attack the operatives. They thought a surprise attack from behind our lines would allow them to kill the group." Tony made a rude noise.

Everyone was well aware that certain fringe elements changed their agenda whenever it was convenient. They just wanted to cause trouble to further their own ends... whatever they turned out to be this week. This group seemed to be a bunch of wild-eyed survivalist nut jobs with an axe to grind against the government and had chosen the SEALs as a target out of thin air.

Admiral Taylor tapped the remote. "We've managed to zero in on one area that we are sure is a stronghold for the group." A topographical map appeared. "We're not sure, yet, if there are more. But, considering the way these things go, this is probably the main HQ. People are checking things out now. Courtesy of the CIA and FBI. We'll have a plan of the compound in two or three days and begin making a mockup then. I'll let you know as soon as it's up. Either at the FBI compound, or the Marine training area, over at Quantico. Until then, gentlemen and lady, I suggest you begin training." He glanced around and was a bit startled to see that Gibbs and DiNozzo already had their heads together. "Gentlemen?"

Tony glanced up. "Once we get the diagrams, we can begin planning. Now, however, Gibbs, Ziva, McGee, and I have to start training. Hard." He grinned at the admiral. "Plans must be made."

Gibbs smacked him in the back of the head. "DiNozzo."

"Thanks, Boss."

Admiral Taylor just snorted to keep from laughing and left them to it.

<><><><>.

Tony was pleased to find out that Gibbs, well aware of what it took to get a Masters in Phys Ed, intended to leave the training plan to him. He'd already assessed the readiness of all the team without even thinking about it.

Ziva needed endurance, and Gibbs just an all-around refresher, while McGee might be hopeless. It depended on how hard he was willing to work. He, himself, needed a bit of retraining here and there, just because he was not up to what he considered top form.

So he settled down with his laptop and made up training schedules for all of them. Then he sent out emails to his team, asking for condition assessments from them. He was pleased to get them back almost at once. His team knew something was coming their way. He really wished they'd all had more down time, but needs must, so they would. The time between now and their new mission would help. Two weeks of training was nearly as good as a vacation. He hoped.

His only real problem was going to be McGee. He was a good agent, but he didn't have any military experience. Gibbs was ex-Marine; he had experience with MARSOC, Force Recon, and Scout Snipers. Ziva was Mossad; enough said. He was a SEAL, with a damn fine team of his own. McGee had been through FLETC (Federal Law Enforcement Training Center), which was no small deal, but compared to what everyone else had done, it wasn't enough.

And two weeks just wasn't enough time to bring him up to speed. McGee needed to lose about 20 pounds of baby fat and put on at least 30 pounds of pure muscle. He needed to be able to run, flat-out, at least a mile. And that was only for this one mission. If he wanted to be SEAL-ready... well, that just wasn't happening. Tony wondered how to keep McGee out of danger without damaging his already fragile self-esteem. It wasn't going to be easy.

Tony started to say something to Gibbs, but McGee interrupted him. "Tony. Can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Sure, McGee, what's up?" Tony waited for some heart-felt plea to be allowed to work the mission.  
Instead, McGee surprised him by saying, "I'd love to go on this mission but... I don't think it's a good idea. I'm not in good enough shape to keep up with you. I could... I donno... be mission control? You think?"

Gibbs unknowingly helped Tony out. "Yeah, you'll do good at that. And I know you won't be up to speed in time, but you should start training with us."

McGee felt his heart swell; he was included after all. He knew he wasn't going to be ready for this mission, or ever, but it felt good anyway. "Thanks, Boss. But ..."

Tony just shrugged, "The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war. Get over it."

Gibbs just sipped his coffee and hid a smile behind his cup.

So, Tony planned, made a few calls, then printed out a checklist for everyone.

<><><><>.

The calls included one to a pharmacist's mate assigned to SEALs. He made up vitamin packs to order. Tony told him to consult with Ducky and fine-tune the packs to each of them. He included Jimmy Palmer and Ducky in the order. It wouldn't hurt either one of them.

The rest of the plans, he did himself. His degree in Phys Ed had included nutrition and exercise planning. He had to make sure that everyone got up to speed in two weeks, without hurting themselves, which would put them off the mission.

And so it was that his SEAL team met with 'his' NCIS team at the beginning of a jogging path in The Anacostia Park complex. It was part of the still incomplete Anacostia Riverwalk Trail. The complete trail was to be approximately 20 miles long when finished; this part was right across from The Yard and nearly six miles of good trail with a bit of hill thrown in. It also had several stopping points where exercise areas were set up. It was actually a modified Grinder, more suited to civilians than military, but it was easier for them to work out here than drive down to Yorktown Naval Weapons Station in Yorktown, VA to run their Grinder; that just wasn't practical. They still had to do their job here, and train for the raid in South Carolina. Just another day in the life as far as Tony was concerned.

Cos, Remy, and Dean arrived exactly ten minutes early. Gibbs was already there, drinking coffee and stretching. Ziva drove up right behind the three SEALs’ hummer, with McGee coming in last at three minutes early. Tony grinned at his pod, then started handing out backpacks.

"Okay, ladies, here's the deal. I've weighted the packs to level the field a bit. Gibbs, forty pounds. Ziva, twenty. McGee, twenty. Everyone else, full field pack. I expect all of us to be able to carry fifty pounds the full four miles by the end of two weeks."

Gibbs didn't say anything about the light weight on his pack; he knew he wasn't up to a full field pack, yet. That would change quickly. He was well aware that he was older, by five or six years, than the next oldest; but that just meant that he had to work a bit harder to keep up.

Ziva just picked up the pack, shrugged and put it on. She was used to carrying a full pack; Mossad didn't make allowances for gender. She was also used to having to prove herself.

McGee groaned. He wasn't used to running with any sort of pack. He was going to be miserable until he fell out. And he knew he was going to. There was no way he could keep up, try as he might. But there were other things he could do; run as far as he could, then walk back to the vehicles and have drinks and towels ready for the others, for one. He was going to try his hardest; he wasn't wimping out, but there was no sense in fooling himself.

Cos, Remy and Dean just put on their packs, grumbling a bit about the flatness of the trail. "AJ, how the hell are we going to run through the pre-mission tactical exercises down here?"

"We're not. We've got facilities at Quantico. They're good. Some of our support team are building the mockup as we speak. We'll do our run, then you guys go over and supervise. I'll head back to NCIS for the day and meet you there at 1700. Now, less yacking, more running."

Tony checked to make sure that everyone had stretched properly, including himself, then they were off.

As they jogged, Tony moved up and down the line, keeping track of who was running easily and who was having trouble.

Gibbs was trotting along, keeping pace with Dean; Remy and Cos right behind. Ziva was running beside Remy and speaking with him in French. The conversation seemed to be about the difference between Parisian French and Cajun. McGee was keeping up, but already showing signs of stress. They'd only run a mile.

At a mile and a half, Gibbs realized that Tony had already covered at least half again that. He kept running up to the front, then dropping back to check on someone. Then he had to run back up again. He also tended to turn around and trot back along the line.

McGee knew he was doing better than he'd expected, but not good enough to keep up. "Tony, I'm done. If I go any farther, I won't be able to get back to my car."

Tony, having planned their route to take them back to their cars, replied, "If you can make it one more mile, you can cut across the middle of our route back to your car."

McGee thought about that. "Don't think so. I'm about tapped out now." His reply was interrupted by quick panting breaths.

Tony eyed him up then agreed. "You're right. Good work, McGee. Knowing your limits is half the job of getting in better shape. Meet you back at the cars."

McGee cut off to walk across the intervening field and back to their cars. He noticed that their route was a jagged oval, sort of, and he had given up before the first exercise stop. He felt bad about that, but he wasn't about to make himself sore enough that he couldn't do the next day's exercises.

Tony caught up with the group and trotted beside Gibbs for a moment. "McGee dropped out already. Boss? I don't think he's going to make it up to speed." He thought for a moment. "No, I'm being polite. I know he's not."

Gibbs had noticed McGee's distress too. "I know it too. So... what do we do about it?" Gibbs had an idea what needed to be done. He just wasn't going to be the one to suggest it if he didn't have to.

Tony was well aware exactly what Gibbs was up to. This was his operation. Gibbs was NCIS, Tony was both NCIS and SEAL. Everyone knew that Gibbs was a control freak of the worst sort. A few, Tony among them, were also aware that he was perfectly capable of giving up control when the occasion merited it. He thought this occasion fit his parameters quite well.

"Ok, Boss, we already mentioned this, but... let him keep going as best he can. He's smart enough to keep from hurting himself by trying to keep up with us. He could use some conditioning. But where he's really going to be an asset is in Control. He's a master of multi-tasking and familiar with police actions as opposed to military." Tony glanced at Gibbs.

Gibbs smiled. "Put him in MTAC on our control. Good. I trust him on our six."

"Me too. The guy who usually works with my team is in... somewhere else right now." Tony grimaced; he was fairly sure his tactical aide was in the Sudan somewhere.

He caught up with Cos. "What do you think of McGee as Tac-aide for the mission?"

"If you like him, I say, let him work with us on the dry runs. See how he shakes out. But, I'll tell you flat out... I don't want him in my stack. Sorry." Cos managed to shrug at a dead-out trot with a full field-pack weight on his back.

" 'S ok. I don't either. He's good—not great, but he has no place in our stack. He's a demon with computers and satellite surveillance. He'll be an asset as Tac-aide." Tony dropped back to razz Remy. "Remiel, if you don't put a wheel under it I'm gonna kick your ass."

Remy grumbled. "Too early; no coffee," but he sped up.

Dean moved up beside Gibbs. "How ya doin', old man?"

Gibbs gave him a moment to think about that while he glared at him, then said, "You, me, mats."

Tony, overhearing, winced but kept his remarks to himself. Gibbs was going to hand Dean his ass on a plate.

Ziva found herself pacing Cos toward the end of their run. "So... your name is Cos? Yes?"

"It's actually Cosmo, but only my Mom calls me that." Cos eyed the pretty agent for a moment then decided it wasn't worth it; AJ would kill him. "Ma'am."

Ziva had watched Cos out of the corner of her eye and realized that she wasn't going to get anywhere with the attractive SEAL. His quick glance at Tony told her why. "You're that afraid of DiNozzo?"

Cos nodded. "Oh, definitely. He's... really scary when he gets pissed. Don't call him Honey Badger, or just Badger, for nothing. Once he gets a mad on, he's like... a force of nature."

"Really?" Ziva drew the word out and gave Cos her sly, sexy look, complete with head dip and pout.

Tony, seeing what she was up to, dropped back. "Leave him, Zivala, that's only going to cause hard feelings later."

Cos gave him a thankful look and put on a burst of speed to catch up to the main group.

"Zee, do not cause hard feelings in my pod; I'll kick your ass, woman or no." Tony shot a quick, hard look at her, direct eye contact proving that he really meant what he said. Ziva backed off. She wasn't about to get between Tony and his men. And she really did not want her ass kicked.

<><><><>.

It took them about another ten minutes to get back to the cars. McGee was waiting for them with his laptop in his lap. He'd settled in the seat of his car, watched as the group worked their way around the course, and kept a log of who'd done what. He hoped this would help Tony keep track of what was going on with the group, conditioning-wise.

"McGee, what the hell?" Tony couldn't believe that McGee was already surfing.

McGee just handed him the laptop, then began explaining. "I set up a spreadsheet so that we can keep track of how we're doing. I established a set of parameters to meet, predicated on the stresses we're sure to experience on the mission. So... um... I'm not going to be in condition in time... or maybe ever." 

Tony glanced over the sheet, then handed the computer back. "Ok, people; time. Let's go."

What McGee hadn't taken into account was, the track was two and a half miles, and they needed to run five. He watched as the group took off again. The quick stop was just to dry irritating, dripping sweat and get a drink.

As they made their second round, the difference in conditioning between Tony, the other SEALs, and Gibbs and Ziva became evident. Gibbs and Ziva were both beginning to fall behind, just a bit.

McGee looked at the plan he'd pulled up on his computer. It was crushing, especially since they were substituting running for the ten-minute rest. They hadn't done any swimming yet, but McGee was sure they would get it worked in somehow.

 

Navy SEALs, in order to pass their Physical Fitness Tests, have to:

-Swim 500 yards in 12:30 (though 8:00-9:00 is better)*Rest 10 mins-Max Push-Ups in 2 mins (42 is minimum, 90+ is better)*Rest 2 mins-Max Sit-ups in 2 mins (52 is minimum, 90+ is better)*Rest 2 mins-Max Pull-ups ― no time limit (8 is minimum, 15+ is better)*Rest 10 mins-1.5 mile run (11:30 is maximum, 9 mins or less is better)

Now that he had time to watch, McGee saw that Tony had organized the run so that they came to a station, a small area with simple equipment, at intervals around the oval. That was why it was irregular. The stations were either just a wide place in the path, or had pull-up bars or sit-up racks. He noticed, with a bit of disgust, that both Ziva and Gibbs were keeping up, just barely, but still. He wondered if he'd even pass his fitness check.

Gibbs, for his part, was enjoying the workout. He knocked out his first set of sit-ups and headed for the next station, right on Tony's heels. Ziva was only seconds behind him. The other SEALs were several yards ahead, but he was satisfied with his performance. After all, he was at least 8 years older than any of them.

Tony trotted beside Remy for a moment. "Well?"

"Good. Lady Mossad is tough. Gibbs... he's a Marine, what can I say? As to McGee? Not in my stack." Remy liked McGee, but he knew that the computer oriented man wasn't up to the standards.

"Much as it hurts, you're right." Tony put on a bit of speed to catch up to Dean and Cos. "You ok?"

"Yeah." Dean answered. Cos just nodded.

Satisfied, Tony turned and jogged back to pace Ziva. "Zee?"

"I am good. Looking forward to a nice drink of cold water." Ziva was satisfied with herself. She was keeping up, proving that her constant efforts to keep in Mossad shape were successful.

Tony thought of something as he ran. Ziva had her car, Gibbs his, McGee another; he had his, and the guys had all come in a Hummer. He shrugged, that just meant that the SEALs would have to swim to the Yard, then back. From his chosen starting point to the dock at the Yard and back was just a bit more than .56 miles. Just a quick dip.

They finished the second lap in good time, and Ziva and Gibbs were feeling very satisfied with themselves. Gibbs took a bottle of water from McGee and handed it off to Ziva. He turned when McGee offered Tony a bottle.

Tony laughed, "No thanks," then started shucking off his sweats. Cos and Remy had already stripped down to swim trunks and t-shirts. Dean was rooting in the back of the Hummer.

Gibbs glowered for a moment then demanded, "What the hell are you up to?"

"A little swim, Boss." Tony accepted a pair of swim fins from Dean.

"Your back healed enough?" Gibbs wasn't about to argue; his first impulse was to forbid Tony swimming but his head overrode his heart and he kept that idiocy to himself.

Cos nodded sagely. "It is, but do you really think that would stop Badger?"

Gibbs gave up. Anyone who'd won the war name of Honey Badger was pretty much a really big dog.

"If I'd known we were gonna swim, I'd have worn my trunks."

Tony snorted. "Boss, not a SEAL, right?"

"Ever look into the training for Scout Sniper?" Gibbs smirked at Tony. His training had been just as extensive as Tony's, just a bit more land-oriented, but a half-mile swim was well within his capabilities. He regularly swam a mile—in a pool, granted, but he was pretty sure he could manage a half-mile in the Potomac with fins.

Tony grinned back. "Ok, Boss. Dean, extra fins. And a suit?"

Dean just handed Gibbs a pair of trunks and a set of fins.

There was a small structure nearby, a 'comfort station'. Gibbs went in, changed and came back out, carrying his clothing in one hand. He'd kept on his t-shirt, as the others had.

Ziva just wrinkled her nose; she was no swimmer and wasn't about to jump into the Potomac. "I believe I shall stay here with McGee. No swimming for me, even if I did have a suit."

Tony couldn't help but laugh at his friends as they all scampered down the bank and into the river like a bunch of schoolboys. He joined them quickly, sitting on a rock to put on his fins before wading out far enough to begin his swim. He joined the group, noticing that Gibbs used a combat crawl instead of the more well-known Australian, or front, crawl.

The combat crawl was a SEAL standard. It was not intended to be fast, just silent, although someone in SEAL condition could make distance in good time.

Ziva and McGee both watched as their friends swam toward the docks at the Yard. Ziva, well aware of the distance asked, "Do you think they will make it?"

"Yeah, Tony wouldn't put anyone in real danger. He's a smart ass, but he's not stupid." McGee watched Gibbs carefully.

They both jumped when a voice from behind them asked, "Do you know who that is? I've been trying to find out for years."

When they turned around, they saw a well-set-up man of about 40 wearing a t-shirt that said, 'DCYMCA'.

Ziva, ever a bit suspicious, asked, "And why do you want to know?"

"I've seen him swim from The Navy Yard to Anacostia and back at least three times a week, most weeks. I was wondering if I could get him to coach. I just can't seem to catch him. He never actually gets out of the water." The man cast a look at the group. "But... he's some sort of operative, right?" He held up a hand to stop Ziva or McGee from speaking. "Don't tell me, I don't need to know. Just... I hope he and his group stay safe." He turned to go.

McGee said, "Sorry we can't help you. Thanks for the good wishes."

"You're welcome." The man, whose name they never learned, disappeared behind the restroom building.

Ziva sighed. "Three times a week. And how did he sneak that past us?"

McGee shook his head. "Good ol' frat-boy image. He comes in a bit late with wet hair and we just assume that he had a date and overslept. How many times did we rag on him on a Monday morning when he was half asleep because his late night included a raid in some Middle Eastern country and a long flight back home?"

"I don't know. And that irritating frat-boy thing kept us from asking questions that he couldn't answer. We'd get too close to things he didn't want us to know, so he'd tell some idiot story about a movie or flirt outrageously or play some prank to distract us." She shook her head. "How... well... I'm going to smack him." She couldn't believe she'd been fooled so easily. "We saw what he intended us to see and never looked further than the surface."

They subsided into silence and waited for the group to get back to their vehicles.

Meanwhile, Gibbs was wondering what the hell he'd been thinking. He managed the swim over well enough but he wasn't looking forward to the swim back at all. He wasn't sure he'd make it. The current was really taking it out of him.

Tony, well aware of his boss's proclivities, knew that Gibbs had overextended himself a bit. Gibbs was a bit over half way back and beginning to struggle when Tony ordered, "Cos, buddy up with Gibbs; rescue-swim him for awhile."

Gibbs didn't argue; he was not in trouble yet, and he didn't want to be. Cos 'rescuing' him was good practice for Cos. Rescue swimming was part of the SEAL training program. So he just rolled over on his back and let Cos slide under him, grasp his chin and tow him.

Tony switched Cos out for Remy about half way back and also ordered Dean to rescue-swim him. Dean groaned, grumbled, and complied.

<><><><>.

When they reached the shore again, they were greeted with towels and dry clothing. McGee handed out the towels while Ziva sorted clothing into piles. She did wonder how they were going to change in public; the restrooms were too small to accommodate them all at once, and she didn't see taking turns as something a bunch of men would do.

It turned out she was wrong. Tony sorted them quickly, obviously aware of the space available. "Okay; Cos: you, Gibbs, and Dean get changed. Quick time." He scrubbed his hair with a towel. "Thanks, Probie. Next swim, I really would like something hot on hand. Ziva, McGee? Input?"

Ziva shrugged. "There's a Starbucks just outside the gates. We could stop there?"

McGee shook his head. "Not acceptable. Gibbs hates Starbucks, says they burn the beans." He smiled at Ziva's puzzled expression. "You know he's a coffee snob. I think... I could just make a pressure pot full. I've got a big pot, it takes two carafes to fill it. That do?"

Tony blessed his friend with one of his brilliant, sincere smiles. "Yes, McGenerous, that will do."

After the rest of the group was dry and dressed in clean clothing, they began the debriefing.

"Remy?" Tony turned first to his partner; he relied on Remy as much as he did Gibbs.

"Gibbs is a big dog. Ziva? Lady Mossad is going to be ready. Digimon? Don't think so. He's good, not great, and doesn't have a place in our stack. But on Control? We'll see how that goes in dry run." Remy looked to Cos to continue.

"I feel the same. Sorry, McGee, but I'd rather hurt your feelings than get you killed with kindness. Ya know?" Cos grimaced apologetically.

McGee sighed then nodded. "I know. And thanks for being up front with me. I'll continue to train with you, if that's ok. But... I know I'll be a better asset behind the scenes. I'll want to work with all of you on the radio. I need to be able to recognize your voices so we don't have to waste valuable time giving ID's all the time."

Gibbs glanced at Tony, who nodded. "I agree with Cos and Remy. But you'll be surprised at how good McGee will be on radio. He's got an ear for voices. And he's quick on computers. We need intel, he'll have it."

McGee, not used to such praise, blushed to the tips of his ears.

<><><><>.

The next week was, as Dean said, 'Wash, rinse, repeat.'

Dean, Cos and Remy met Gibbs, Ziva, McGee, and Tony at the park for their workout, then went with them to NCIS. At NCIS they went up to MTAC while Team Gibbs went about their daily routine, working to build a case while they prepared for the raid on the Sons of Freedom compound. Tony split his time between the two teams, easily transitioning from one to the other. After all, he'd had nearly eight years’ practice.

Gibbs watched this with pride. The idiot frat-boy was gone, unmourned, and a serious, business-like man had taken his place. Tony wasn't a grouch by any means; his sense of humor was unchanged, it had just taken a gentler turn.

Although one agent who had made some comment about Remy being a swamp-trotter had had an unpleasant encounter with string crackers. When he opened his drawer, the crackers' .22-like explosions had resulted in several firearms pointed in his direction.

Hysterical laughter from the direction of MTAC had let everyone know who had pulled that stunt. Gibbs' uncharacteristic smirk made Ziva wonder just how he'd been involved.

 

 

 

<><>chapter six<><>

The end of the first week proved that McGee was going to be no good in the raid; he just couldn't get up to the physical requirements in time. However, he was going to be gold on the com system.

The day they'd relegated him to handler, he'd handed out earwigs and told them to wear them. "Put it in, keep it in. I don't care what you're saying, just do whatever it is you generally do. All I want to do is listen in to get the sound of your voices in my ear. If I'm having trouble sorting you out, I'll ask for a name. Give me your birth name and war name."

The SEALs just stuck the wigs in their ears and wandered out. They were used to this sort of thing. Their rotating control officers always did this. Gibbs didn't object either, just nodded and copied the SEALs. Ziva grumbled that it looked like a hearingaid for a little old lady. Gibbs swatted her on the back of the head, saying, "Just do it, Lady Mo."

Tony examined the earwig, commented, "Newest and best," then stuck it in his ear. "Badger to Digimon."  
McGee pressed his finger to the ear piece in his own ear. "Got ya. Not that I'd ever mistake your voice for anyone else, Badger."

"So I'm unforgettable? That's nice." Tony managed to smirk vocally.

"No, you're just that familiar. Gibbs?" McGee gave Tony an irritated look, which got him a visible smirk.

Gibbs answered. "Gibbs, second b for bastard. Or so I've been told. Viper."

There was an unidentified choke on the frequency. "Wa? Who?"

Tim barked, "Can that. Who is this?"

"Sorry." The background sounds were the unmistakable chatter pattern of MTAC. "Cos, or Scorpion."

"Remy... LeBeau. No smart remarks. Tony gave me it."

"Dean, or Cobra."

McGee nodded to himself. "Good reception. Voices are very clear."

There was a bit of chatter that McGee didn't bother to correct; he was just listening in, after all.

<><><><>.

It was lunch time, and Gibbs was in a bit of a temper. His computer was messed up again, and he didn't have the slightest idea what was really wrong or how to fix it. "Digimon, my computer is FUBAR again. Come fix it."

McGee, who had stepped out to the men's room, answered, "On my way, Viper."

When he got to Gibbs' desk, he found the chair empty and waiting for him. "I've gone for coffee." was written on a sticky note on the face of the monitor.

McGee did his magic, muttering over an open frequency, "I wish he'd quit opening attachments from just anyone. Dammit."

Gibbs replied, "And how the hell am I supposed to know what's in them if I don't?"

McGee finally gave Gibbs a bit of his own. "By reading the damn subject line. If it's empty, don't open anything, delete it." He eyed the queue of undeleted e-mails and realized that it was in the thousands. "Holy shit! Don't you ever delete anything?"

Another voice came over the wire. "Um... you do realize that all the mics are embedded in the earpiece and voice-activated, don't you?"

McGee groaned softly, "Yes, LeBeau, I do now. Thanks for that bit of belated intel."

No one laughed, or even commented.

Gibbs strode out of the elevator and back to his desk. "McGee, delete or whatever, anything I don't need."

McGee just blinked at Gibbs for a moment. "But, Boss, how am I supposed to know what you need and what you don't?"

"I don't know, just do it." Gibbs was irritable, as his usual barista hadn't been at the coffee shop, and the girl who had waited on him had tried her best to sell him some sort of crappy latte, sugary not-coffee.

McGee, finally pushed too far, stated plainly. "Not a chance. Gibbs, you are a damn Luddite when it comes to computers... or much of anything with a chip in it. What are you gonna do if something happens to me?"

"Not gonna happen. And I'm not a Luddite, I'm a nominal Lutheran." Gibbs smirked at McGee's expression of shocked dismay and turned to his repaired computer. He was beginning to realize, more and more, that he was going to have to relent and learn computers. Something he was not looking forward to at all.

McGee sighed, "Ok, here, trash can...” he trailed off, tinkered with the keyboard for a moment, then continued, "with the word delete under it. I don't know why your e-mail was set up symbols only, but now all the buttons have titles under them. Highlight the e-mail by clicking on it once, then move the little arrow to the button labeled ‘delete’ and click. The highlight will drop down one; make sure you want to delete that e-mail, and repeat until your queue is cleared."

Gibbs just gave him a stinkeye and started deleting. He was going to be at this all day. He knew how to delete all, but there were messages he needed to keep.

McGee returned to his desk, listening to the chatter on his earpiece without paying much attention to the content, just sorting out the voices and absently applying names.

The day ended and everyone went home, only to get up at 0600 to do it all again.

With a bit of a sidetrack.

Gibbs waylaid Dean on his way out one day. "Cale, remember that I told you we'd meet on the mats?" Dean nodded cautiously. "Well, now's the time."

Dean eyeballed Tony and said, "AJ?"

Tony shrugged. "I wouldn't put it off, if I was you. Not good."

So Dean found himself on the mats with Gibbs. This worried him a bit. He knew that his comment of 'old man' had either hurt Gibbs' feelings or angered him. Either one wasn't good; they had to work together, after all. So he was prepared to take one for the team, but he wasn't sure that was as good an idea as it might seem.

Tony, realizing Dean's quandary, told him, "Don't hold back; if you kick his ass, he'll just shrug it off. But if you play with him, I'll kick your ass."

Dean just nodded, "Ok, AJ. And... sorry about shitting in your nest."

Tony just patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. He's... what? Six to eight years older than me, and I'm older that any of you by... four or so years. But, he's... you'll see."

And with that, Tony gave Dean an evil smirk that made him sigh. "Oh, man, I am so dead."

Gibbs, waiting on the other side of the mat for Dean to get himself ready, just gave him the evil eye.

Then the fight was on. Gibbs moved to the middle of the mat and waited for Dean to come to him. Dean, on the other hand, wasn't so sure anymore that he really wanted to face this stern-faced, silver-haired, older man. He finally remembered something his dad had always told him: 'Age and experience top youth and enthusiasm any day.' He moaned and readied himself to get his ass kicked.

Gibbs smirked when he saw that Dean had finally realized how much trouble he was in. He moved in on the younger man and feinted. Dean covered, but backed up.

Dean was well trained and, because of this training, he wanted to feel Gibbs out. Gibbs was an unknown; Dean had never fought him before and had no idea how he fought or what techniques he used.

Gibbs, knowing exactly what Dean was up to, didn't give him a chance. He rushed Dean and forced him to fight blind.

It was over quickly. Dean stepped back; Gibbs jammed him, punching and kicking. Dean managed to block most of the punches, but he missed a combination and took a heavy shot to the solar plexus that winded him. He dropped like a rock and rolled up into a defensive ball.

Gibbs backed up, watching him warily. This 'turtling' was an effective ploy: pretend to give up then take your opponent down when they come to check on you. He wasn't falling for it.

Tony, knowing Dean, called, "Stop! Enough." He got up to check on his two friends.

Dean, gasping for air, grumbled, "Fuck. I'm ok. Just got me between wind and water. Give me a sec."

Gibbs just shrugged, cracked his neck and said, "I'm fine. Good fight, Dean. Here." He offered Dean a hand up.

Dean took the hand and allowed Gibbs to help him up. "Damn. And ouch."

Gibbs looked him over with some concern."We okay?"

"Fine. No hard feelings. I should learn to keep my boot out of my damn big mouth." Dean grinned at Gibbs who couldn't help grinning back.

Tony waved them away. "Okay, everybody, go the hell home. Show's over."

That was when both Gibbs and Dean realized that they had an audience. It was made up mostly of NCIS personnel who'd heard that Gibbs was fighting someone. The rest of the audience were SEALs, Tony's team.

Gibbs glowered around, turned, and headed for the showers, Dean on his heels. Tony told everyone to break it up and get out. They all did. No one wanted to cross this new, more serious DiNozzo.

<><><><>.

The second week went just about as expected, except for one real problem: they couldn't get a bird's-eye view of the compound. The Sons of Freedom had left too many trees inside the compound.

McGee, in the depths of MTAC, at a work station assigned to him only for the duration of their op, snarled in frustration. "No matter how I orient the satellite, or the SEALs orient theirs, I can't get a decent look. I know where the major buildings are, but not much more. There's no way to tell exactly how big they are or what they're being used for. I can tell you that there are no women or children there. Only men, most between the ages of twenty-something and about fifty." He rubbed his face wearily. "So... I sent what we have to the crew building the mockup. And I've set up a computer simulation protocol, but that's the best I can do."

Tony took over. "Since we can't get good intel, we're going to do it the old fashioned way. With the tree cover what it is, we can't even rope in. So... ideas."

Gibbs thought for a moment. "Storm the citadel. We know where the gates are. We know where the main buildings are. We'll have to eyeball them directly to see what they're used for. Send in a team to actually watch them for a couple of days, while we... team-build."

Ziva nodded. "I don't fit in your stack. I'm too small, and you don't need the aggravation of waiting for me to scale a wall that high." She looked around at the rather startled faces. "What? One of the things I learned early is, there are some missions that I am going to be a liability on and how to know when that is so. I can do the recon. Stealth is one of my specialties, you know."

Tony nodded. "Ok. I'll see about assigning you a couple of companions."

Ziva shook her head. "Only one. Our cover will be that we are a couple in search of some backcountry hiking. Yes?"

Gibbs grimaced. "I don't like you going off with someone I don't know."

Cos nodded. "But I do know who would work. He's reliable... and married. No hanky-panky, no problems with the two R's."

Ziva looked puzzled. "The two R's? I do not know this."

Remy snickered, "Foreign relations."

Ziva smacked him on the arm. "Explain now, before I am forced to hurt you." Her slight smile took the threat from her demand.

"Ok, ok. Abusive much?" Remy rubbed his arm. "Roman hands and Russian fingers. Foreign relations."

Ziva gave him a disgusted look then sighed. "You Americans are very odd."

Gibbs snorted and demanded, "Back on topic, people."

McGee had one more bit of bad news. "And, before we go any farther, because we can't get a good satellite picture, I'm no use."

Tony shook his head. "Yes, you are. We're going to need situation reports. We're going to have to divide the attack; there's several hard targets, and some soft ones as well. We'll breach the gate, then divide into two-man attack teams. That tree cover is thick enough to fuck satellites, but not a sniper. You'll have to coordinate the attacks, to make sure there's no friendly-fire incidents. So that means Gibbs, long-distance sniper; me and Remy, Dean and Cos on the ground. We'll soften them up, then a secondary wave, capture only."

Gibbs nodded. "We'll build a secondary from NCIS and locals." He thought for a moment, then said, "Or not. How do we know that some of the local LEO's aren't involved?"

Ziva agreed, remarking, "Or just have family in the Sons of Freedom who they talk to."

Remy said, "Loose lips."

Dean nodded wisely.

Tony stood up. "If there's no more input, we'll begin simulations tomorrow. Boss, you need to clear the time away with the higher-ups. Or I could. But I really hate talking to SecNav. Man's a menace."

Gibbs just pulled out his phone, called, spoke, and hung up. "All clear. We're off on a training exercise for the foreseeable future."

Tony glared for a moment. "Now why, with all my suave persuasiveness, do I have problems, while you just bark and he buckles?"

"He's a politician, but he likes people to be up front with him. He's suspicious of anyone who butters him up too much. Next time, just tell him what you need and be done with it." Gibbs hid a satisfied smile behind cold coffee.

Tony just rubbed his face tiredly. This was turning out to be a real headache.

<><><><>.

Ziva left at once, along with her companion, Mack Riley. They drove down, taking turns driving and sleeping. The eight-hour drive only took six, but they both wanted to be well-rested and alert.

They stopped at a quick stop near their target to get snacks, 'real' food, and information about hiking trails.

The clerk gave them a map, then warned them about the 'Freedom freaks' up in the hills.

"You don't want to get too near that area. They're all survivalist nut jobs; they'll run you off at gunpoint." The elderly man shook his head in wonder.

"Why doesn't the law do something?" Ziva emphasized her accent a bit.

"Well, their fence is inside their property line, see? So they got every right to run people off. Most folks around here don't have anything much to do with them. Some won't even sell to 'em. We really just want 'em gone. They interfere with the tourists, scare 'em away. Campers, fishermen, hikers an' the like, they're our bread an' butter. But, as long as they don't violate any laws, which they haven't, can't do much to 'em." He checked out their sodas, chips, and sandwiches. "That'll be... eighteen forty." He bagged their stuff, then said, "You kids be careful up in them hills. Have fun."

They returned to their car and made their way to the trailhead nearest to the target. After unloading their backpacks, cameras, and cooler, they sat down to eat their sandwiches, purposely giving the impression of two people on a simple hiking trip in the mountains.

<><><><>.

While Ziva and Mack were doing their reconnaissance, the rest of the team were getting their gear together.

Gibbs was especially pleased to find that he would be able to rebuild his Kate, the sniper rifle he'd carried all through Desert Storm. Along with a standard AR-15 and a Beretta 92FS.

He spent a hour with the armorer, Master Chief Petty Officer Grigs, setting up his piece. He chose the twenty-four-inch barrel configuration. MCPO Grigs was a bit worried about the one-pound trigger-pull, but kept his mouth shut; this was, after all, Viper he was dealing with. He suggested a Leupold Mark 4, 3.5-10X40 Long Range/Tactical Front Focal M3 Mil scope, which Gibbs accepted with an easy nod.

"And I'll need a spotter's scope too. Ziva needs to be included in this op, no matter what she says. She'll make a good spotter." Gibbs knew that Ziva understood why she wasn't in the strike force, but he did need a spotter.

He left the armory with a soft gun case hanging from one shoulder and a widemouth full of ammo and spotter's equipment in the other hand.

He made his way down to the rifle range to work with his new rifle. He wasn't about to go into combat with a weapon he hadn't fired. He settled at a shooting station and started arranging his equipment; he didn't even startle when Tony plucked the spotter scope from his hands and started setting it up.

"You need a spotter." Tony knew Gibbs knew this, but it was a good way to start the conversation.

Gibbs grunted, "Ziver," and went back to his rifle.

Tony wondered, for a moment, how Gibbs had come up with that nickname for the Israeli. He knew how he'd come up with Zee.

"Ok. That'll work. No one wants her in the stack." He paused for a moment.

Gibbs finished the thought. "She's too small to be in a stack with a bunch of SEALs. They wouldn't intentionally hurt her, but adrenalin is a great way to forget that she's half your size. I'm glad she didn't give me any of that 'I'm Mossad' shit either."

"Exactly."

After that short conversation, they settled down to work.

Tony estimated the range, gave the figures to Gibbs, and waited while he took his shot. "Spot! One quarter, left and low. One click up, one click right."

Gibbs adjusted his scope and tried again.

Tony addressed the shot. "Good. Right on. One more."

Gibbs took a third shot and waited for Tony to critique it.

"Still right on. I think you're good to go." He checked the distance on the target against his estimation, done with a gage in the spotter scope. "I got the distance right on, according to the specs. This is a good scope. Want to shoot farther?"

Gibbs thought about that. "What is the max we're going to be dealing with?"

"About this. It's more or less deep woods. And they haven't clear-cut the compound, left a lot of big trees." Tony settled into a squat to keep from looming over his companion.

"Need the shade, or the trees are too big to cut without damaging a building." Gibbs started packing up. Tony followed suit, breaking down the spotter scope tripod and handing it and the scope to Gibbs to put away.

"You're going to need a workout with Zee." Tony consulted an inner timetable. "Two days?"

Gibbs thought about that for a moment. "A couple of hours should do. Make sure she's got arms."

"Right." Tony pulled out his phone and sent a text to have her bag made up for her. She could adjust it when she got back.

<><><><>.

Ziva eyed the compound with disgust. "This is just disgusting."

"Yeah." Mack looked up from his sketch to shake his head.

The compound was more a large camp than a military compound. There were three large buildings: one mess hall, one barracks/dorm and one armory. The rest of the buildings were either tents or shanties. A couple looked like converted hog or chicken sheds. Mack was sketching out a layout. Ziva was doing her best to get a look inside as many buildings as she could, trying to establish some sort of floor plan.

The entire compound resembled nothing so much as a dump. There were sprung couches and chairs in front of most of the buildings, except for the mess and the armory. Burnt out barbecue grills littered the twisting paths between buildings, and trash mingled with beer cans and soda bottles was piled here and there.

Ziva put her binoculars on the ground in front of her. "I count a maximum of thirty men, most armed. But they're ill-trained and lack discipline. Easy target."

"Yeah; I'd like to know how the hell they got ahold of our Marine." Mack was still trying to figure that out.

Ziva thought. "If I was designing the op, I'd lure him in with a woman. Those men have to have... um... relief."

"Good point. Pay a whore enough and she'll do just about anything. Threaten her too, and she'll do anything. Bet we can connect this bunch to missing and/or dead women all over the area." Mack made a face.

"Yes." Ziva nodded. "But, for now, I think we deal with this. Let the local LEO's deal with that."

"Right. And a pleasure, too." Mack shook his head again and returned to his sketching.

It took them another hour to finish. They wound up with a complete sketch of the compound, a good head count, and an estimate of the contents of the armory. Beside the three main buildings, there were five hog/chicken shed conversions and a dozen small tents. Obviously, the compound should contain more men than the twenty-five confirmed final count.

Mack reasoned out loud. "The accommodations are primitive, at best. The number of billets doesn't match the number of men we see. Seems to me that ..."

Ziva let him trail off before announcing, "They are mostly... what you call weekend warriors. The men we are seeing now are... core. The commanders and instigators; the ones who come in on the weekend are..." she scowled in frustration. "I don't know the word. Tony uses it."

Mack thought for a moment. "Wanna-be's. Means they don't have the training, but they pretend to."

"Yes, exactly. So, if we attack in the middle of the week and at night, we'll only have to deal with the core." She smiled in satisfaction at expressing herself so well.

"I'm thinkin' late afternoon. The sun will be behind that hill." Mack pointed. "And that'll give us an advantage."

Ziva looked to see where the sun would set. "Yes, I see. They'll be blinded, as the sun will be shining right in the main gate. That is good. The only other entrance, or, in this case, exit, is on that side." She pointed to it. "But I am uncomfortable."

Mack thought about that, then asked, "Why?"

Ziva shook her head. "I am not sure. Just... there is something not right. Gibbs would say something about his gut. I would like to take a closer look at that side gate."

"Okay; lead on." Mack stuffed his things into his pack, stood up and shouldered it.

Ziva handed him a bottle of water. "Drink. You do not wish to be dehydrated." She shouldered her own pack, then remarked, "After we check that gate, we should head back to DC. Gibbs will be having cats."

"Um... cats?" Mack thought that over. "Don't get it."

Ziva sighed; she was getting things right more and more often, but sometimes she still got confused. "Um... be worried, then angry."

"Oh! It's having kittens. And don't ask me why it's kittens. No idea. Most American idioms don't really make sense." Mack chuckled softly.

It took them nearly an hour to work their way around to the second gate. Mack was just about to step into the path when Ziva stopped him. "Do not." She squatted down and pointed. "Look."

Mack blinked. "Fuck me. Booby traps."

"Yes." Ziva pulled a camera out of her pack and took several pictures, moving around carefully to get more than one angle. "We should leave now."

Mack nodded. "Yeah, it's gonna get dark soon. I'd like to be back to the car before then."

Ziva bristled a bit. "You believe that I am not capable of hiking out in the dark?"

Mack held up a hand. "No, but there's no sense in taking chances. I could carry you, easy. But there's no way you can carry me. So... better safe than sorry. There's no need."

"Oh, I am sorry. And you are right. So we go. Yes?" Ziva shouldered her ruck and started off with Mack right behind her. She was sure she heard him mutter something about porcupines, but she ignored it. What a sticker-y animal had to do with her, she wasn't sure and really didn't care.

It took them nearly an hour of hard hiking to get back to the SUV. The drive back to DC went exactly as the drive down had gone.

When they arrived at the Yard, they found out that they had to go to Quantico. The Marines there were done building the mockup for their dry runs. Ziva grumbled a bit at the fact that they had more driving to do.

<><><><>.

Quantico is about a thirty-minute drive from the Navy Yard, depending on traffic, so it wasn't that far. The only reason Ziva complained was, they'd already been driving for several hours, it was dark, and they were tired. She'd much rather go home, get some sleep and go over in the morning.

Mack just pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. "AJ. We're back at the Yard. You need us there now, or will in the morning do?" He listened for a moment. "Ok, but I need a shower in the worst way."

After hanging up he turned to Ziva. "I tried. AJ wants us there, ASAP. But he said he'll arrange for racks and stuff. We better get on it; sounds like he's in a temper to me."

Ziva just sighed. "Very well, but I need a shower too. I have a clean change of clothing in my pack and another in my car. I'll just get my ready bag for toiletries, and we can head out again."

Mack grinned, "And I'll call my wife."

Ziva couldn't help the slight dig. "Yes, you must keep the little woman informed."

Mack snorted. "Wouldn't exactly call her that. She's a Valkyrie, six-foot-two in bare feet." He smiled fondly. "Ex-Marine. Got wounded in Iraq about two years ago. Opted out."

"She is well?" Ziva wondered if she should apologize. As she spoke, she walked in the direction of her car to fetch her bag.

"Yeah, but she decided to opt out so we could have kids. We didn't want to have any while both of us were in and out of the Box." Mack dialed his phone again and waited for a few moments. He spoke quickly, explaining as much as he could on an unsecured line. "She's okay. Let's go."

Ziva added things and asked, "She is pregnant now?"

Mack nodded proudly. "Twins. Any time now. I really need to get to Quantico, make my report, and get back. She'll kill me for real, if I miss the big event."

Ziva snickered and teased, "So you are afraid of your pregnant wife?" She retrieved her bag from her trunk and slung it over her shoulder.

"Damn straight. I may be a SEAL, but she's a female Marine. You do the math: pregnant, female, Marine. Adds up to a lifetime on the couch, if I miss helping her with the delivery."

Ziva just took the keys out of his hand. "Then I will drive."

Mack groaned but tossed his bag in the back and got in on the passenger side. Ziva tossed her bag on top of his and settled behind the wheel. The screech of burning rubber made Mack wince.

Ziva managed the thirty-plus minute drive in a bit less than twenty; it didn't hurt that one—she drove like a Turkish taxi driver, and two—there was little to no traffic.

They showed their credentials at the gate and were directed to the section of the SEAL training ground called Hogan's Alley, which was where the HQ for the training ground was located.

They arrived just in time to hear Tony say, "Look, man, there's no such thing as overkill; there's just open fire and reload. Just put in the ammo I asked for and stop being such an old woman."

Ziva snorted, making Tony jump. "I knew an old woman who would take exception to that remark. With extreme prejudice."

Tony turned, grinned, and said, "A woman after my own heart. Lady Mossad, news?" He rubbed his eyes irritably. "And please let it be good. I'm about to shoot someone. The bean-counters are driving me nuts."

Ziva sighed, "Tony, I am tired, sweaty, and hungry. Please do not make me hurt you. What do beans have to do with anything?"

Tony waved away explanation to say, "Just report, ok? I'm running on fumes here."

Ziva snorted rudely, then asked, "Why don't you just get some sleep? We are not pressed for time yet. You will do much better work if you are rested."

Tony blinked at her for a moment then said, "You know, I have no idea. I'm gonna find me a rack and get some z's. Write up everything, then go home yourselves. Mack, tell Angela hi for me. And don't show your face until you're a daddy. I'll leave word. So go."

They went. Ziva found an aide and asked for a free office. He showed her to one, and she wrote up her report quickly. She then went home, using the SUV they'd traveled in.

Mack did the same thing, only at his desk. After filing both printed and digital copies, he went home too.

Nothing much went down the rest of that night, except that Tony found a rack in a quiet corner and went to sleep. Gibbs found him about an hour later and racked out on the next bed over.

<><><><>.

While they were sleeping, their reports were added to the intel from the FBI and CIA. Gibbs had had a devil of a time keeping one or both agencies from trying to take over their operation. The only reason he'd succeeded was a call to the SecNav, who'd simply told them all that, since their victim was a Marine and the attack was targeting a Navy operation, it was NCIS and SEAL, period. They'd backed off with suitable grumblings. Their objections were that they'd provided intel so they should be in on the op. SecNav had obligingly told them that he would keep them in the loop.

McGee spent several hours collating the intel and checking it against the nearly finished mockup. He found that they matched perfectly, and, now that they had Ziva and Mack's intel, they even knew which building was what. Which was a relief.

He looked up as a hand reached over his shoulder to pick up his empty coffee cup, exchanging it for one that steamed gently.

"Thanks. I've got everything collated." Tim stretched, picked up his new coffee and sipped. "I've got a question."

The CWO smiled and said, "Ok, so ask it."

"How come I'm in on this? I'd expect you to use your own people." McGee really was interested in the reason. He didn't want to be included because someone was afraid of damaging his ego. It wasn't so fragile that he wanted to risk someone's life over whether or not he was included.

"Well, Badger insisted. Then the SecNav said. You're more than good enough. Expert at computer surveillance, data collection and integration, and satellite monitoring. DiNozzo's team expert is... somewhere else right now, and you're the only one he trusts with this. I think it has something to do with the fact that the last time he didn't have one of his own on his six... well... he got captured. Not good. So... and he's good, really good. Guys like him usually get what they want." The CWO grimaced. "He's not really that demanding, but there are times when, if he doesn't get what he feels he's entitled to... well, let's just say... it's not pretty."

McGee admitted to himself that he couldn't imagine the usually genial Tony doing anything 'not pretty.' He was aware that Tony was much more than he usually showed, but that he had a temper had never occurred to him.

Tony's temper was to show its ugly face very soon.

<><><><>.

The first attempt at stacking the gates was an unmitigated disaster. Dean fell, tripping over Remy's big feet. Remy was out of place, which was what caused Dean to trip. Cosmo managed to keep his position, but he was in the way of a flailing Dean and also fell, right into AJ. AJ stumbled, but managed to keep upright.

Gibbs and Ziva, watching from their place on a created hill, found that a truly angry DiNozzo was not something they wanted to be real close to.

AJ started softly, "Son of a bitch. You dickweeds are just incredible. What is so hard about keeping your place? Remy, you're not stupid, so why, for the love of all that's holy, are you not where you're supposed to be? Dean? Graceful much? Cosmo? You okay?" His voice had risen with every word until he quieted on the word 'Cosmo'.

That was when McGee got his. "Badger, I can hear you perfectly. Answer to question one: no reason. Answer to question two: no reason. Is Cosmo in need of a medic?"

Tony poked his earwig irritably. "No, he doesn't need a medic. The rest of these idiots may, later. Again."

So they set up again, and Tony, already not happy, found that Remy, for some unknown reason, couldn't get in place for the life of him. This resulted in AJ being in his face, a screaming fury. Remy hung his head like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

AJ walked off to cool down, mumbling, "For God's sake, I don't see why it's so hard to cut a fucking lock chain. We've got to get in quick and quiet, or we're fucked before we start." He pulled out his earwig and took his helmet off. He was tempted to slam it into the ground but there was no sense in damaging helpless equipment when he had three SEALs to torture.

"Ok, you bunch of girls, laps around the mockup."

Remy moaned; laps with a pissed AJ following you was no fun in a big way. Cosmo just stood up from his squat and asked, "Rucks?" The grim look on Tony's face made it very clear that he did indeed expect full packs.

Dean moaned, then demanded, "Laps?"

Tony snarled, "Just run until you drop." They grumbled and groaned but it didn't make any difference. Nor did the fact that Tony was going to be right with them all the way.

<><><><>.

Gibbs glanced at Ziva then asked McGee, "Any chance of a cool-down?"

McGee answered, "Don't think so. They're just not in position, and I don't know why." He worried at the reason for a moment, then gave up.

Ziva shook her head. "In Mossad, they would be replaced. I do not believe that it would do any good in this case. Something is off, but what?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Don't know either. Let's go down and take a look."

McGee joined them at the mockup gates. "Well, I checked and everything matches. So... what's the problem? Boss, I think you ought to see if you can't get Tony to back off a little."

Gibbs thought about that for a moment then shrugged. "I'll go talk to Tony. Don't know that it'll do much good, but I'll try to find out what bug crawled up his butt." Gibbs trotted off to catch up with the SEALs

McGee sighed, "Ziva?"

Ziva answered his unasked question. "Many commanders are very tough on their men, others not so much. I believe that Tony has a good reason." She scowled after Gibbs. "I'm just not sure I understand it... yet."

Gibbs caught up with the SEALs and joined the run, trotting along beside Tony.

Tony eyed Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. "So?"

"Might want to back off just a bit. Not tellin' ya how to run your group, just something to think about." Gibbs waited for a reply.

He wasn't disappointed. "Yeah, might. But I won't. Every time I back off, someone dies. Can't take that chance."

"Lost a few?" Gibbs didn't want to poke an open wound but he felt he needed to know.

"Yeah, a few. Hurts. Don't like it." Tony put on a burst of speed to rag Dean, who was obviously eavesdropping. "Ears, man! You want to do the next few laps with two packs?"

"Oh, no, man. AJ, we'll get it. Really." Dean's rather plaintive tone made Gibbs wince.

Tony just barked, "Then fucking run, damnit."

Dean put on a burst of speed, taking himself out of Tony's range... he hoped.

Tony let him go; his temper was on high and he knew it. There was no reason, in his mind, that four men who'd worked together for the better part of six years should have so much trouble with such a simple job. He dropped back to run beside Gibbs. "I don't get it. It's an easy thing: cut a chain, open a gate; but they're trippin' all over each other like a bunch of girls." He grimaced, "In fact, I think a couple of girls might even do better. What's the deal?" His plaintive question made Gibbs give it some thought.

"Hmmm, maybe that's the problem." Tony glanced at Gibbs with a 'get on with it' glower. "It's easy. It's simple. So they're on autopilot and messin' up like a bunch of newbies."

Tony snarled, "I'll put my boot so far up their asses, they'll taste leather."

Gibbs ran with the group for a few laps, hoping that his presence would steady Tony. He finally dropped out after running two miles.

Ziva joined in along with McGee, loping easily to run shoulder to shoulder with Tony, who was still steaming. McGee winced when Cosmo stopped to puke, then just wiped his mouth and kept going.

Gibbs worried that Tony was going too far and started to interfere. He was stopped by the CO on site.

The tall, slender black man touched Gibbs on the shoulder to attract his attention then said, "Don't. He won't push them beyond their limits, just right to the edge. They've been together for nearly three years. Longer than any group in six. He lost one guy early on, and his first commander before that; he swore he'd never lose another, but he has. His men know that he's hard on them to keep them alive. I've never had one of them complain, ever." He turned to look down at the running men. "Look."

Tony was calling a halt as they watched. The exhausted men dropped where they stood, moaning and bitching. Corpsmen hurried to them with drinks and their kits. They did quick assessments, and Cosmo was led off into the bushes, whining like a puppy.

McGee grimaced, "Oh, man, he's not going to be happy. At all."

Ziva followed the men with her eyes then turned back to McGee. "Explain."

McGee didn't get a chance to, a corpsman did it first, although his explanation wasn't comprehensible to her. "Rectal rocket, ma'am. He's dehydrated."

Ziva blinked once. "A... what? Isn't that... further explanation, please."

McGee just got up and wandered away, poking at his earwig to turn it back on. He wasn't about to get into that explanation. He was relieved to hear Ziva's bright laughter as the corpsman explained about hydration enemas.

Cosmo returned to the group looking disgruntled and adjusting his clothing. "Man, AJ, you're a cruel motherfucker. Just... not right."

Tony eyed him up and snorted, "Just because you're a whiny little girl, doesn't mean you'll get away with it."

Ziva started to say something then closed her mouth as she translated things. She gave up. "Men are incomprehensible."

Her declaration was met with grins. Tony just returned, "And women aren't?" He turned to the whole group, "Ok, what the hell is going on? You guys are good, but you're tripping all over each other like a bunch of boots."

McGee returned to the group just then and made a hesitant suggestion. "I don't... um... it's..." He took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself. "Ok, when we had a problem like this down in Cyber Crimes, when I was assigned there as a punishment... Well, we'd switch jobs. I even made everyone change desks once. Why don't you try that? Tomorrow. CO contacted me just now. You're all to return to quarters and rest. Tomorrow, try again. If you're still having problems, we can try something else. Input?"

There was some groaning as the men climbed to their feet, but no input. Tony limped off, mumbling to himself, joined by Remiel. Cosmo and Dean helped each other and followed. Gibbs jerked his head at Ziva, who joined him to work on spotting for him for the rest of the afternoon. McGee just disappeared.

 

 

 

<><>chapter seven<><>

Tim McGee was a very smart man; no one who knew him denied it. He was also a product of his upbringing. His father was an Admiral, old-school Navy, and had raised him in a way that produced a reticent, hesitant person who was unsure of acceptance. But he had a PhD in Biomechanical Engineering, amongst others. And one of his interests was motion analysis. So he applied his expertise to the problem at hand.

"Excuse me. Does anyone have any footage of Badger's team training? I need to see a successful operation." He waited until someone got loose from what they were doing and came over to him.

"Exactly what do you need? We've got door-knocking, fast-roping—you name it we've got it or can get it." The seaman just waited for McGee to tell him what he needed.

"Not sure exactly what I need. The team is supposed to cut a lock on a gate and enter, stealth. But they're tripping all over each other. I need to see something similar to what they're doing now." McGee was beginning to see the problem already.

"No gates. If there's a gate, we usually FRIES them in." The tech waited again.

"Ok, I think I've already got an idea what the problem is. FRIES footage and door-knocking, please." McGee settled at a station and waited while the footage was acquired and downloaded into his station.

McGee watched footage until his eyes felt like they were filled with sand. Then he watched it all again. He wasn't surprised by the hand that offered eye-drops over his shoulder.

"Here, dude, you're going to ruin your eyes at this rate. Why don't you take a break, get some coffee, take a walk? You'll come back better for it."

McGee nodded. "Thanks. I think you're right. I've watched all the footage and I think I see a pattern, but I really need a motion analysis. I've got a program. I'll just load everything and take a break while the footage is analyzed." McGee stuck a flash drive from his pocket into the USB port. "I'll need an authorization to upload my program. Who do I need?"

The tech told him to wait and hurried away. Captain McKinley showed up in seconds. "Ok, Special Agent McGee; what, exactly, do you need?"

"I need authorization to upload a motion analysis program that I wrote myself. I need to analyze several hundred seconds of footage to see why LeBeau, Scorpion, and Cobra are tripping all over each other. It's not that hard an entry. I've done it myself, with Gibbs and DiNozzo. Easy-peasy, as you guys say." McGee glowered at the monitor as if it had personally offended him.

"I see. Ok, I'll enter my personal authorization code." The Captain did that and wandered away, grumbling about security freaks.

McGee uploaded his program then started the analysis. He shoved away from his keyboard and headed for the mess for coffee. He hoped there might be a doughnut or two in his near future.

There was, as someone had found out about his love of apple spice doughnuts, and they left off those damn sprinkles. The only coffee shop that made the kind of apple spice that he liked insisted on covering them with sprinkles, in fruit flavors. The Culinary Specialist that served him smiled as he handed over three of the treats, saying, "Thought you'd be needing a break soon. Here. No icing, just shook up in some sugar. Need anything else?"

McGee grinned back. "No; coffee and I'm good to go. If you've got any experts in time/motion analysis, that'd be good."

The CS got a funny look on his face for a moment then replied, "If you're serious ... yes, we have one." At McGee's thunderstruck expression he explained, "We do time/motion all the time. We have to get up at Zero Fucking Thirty to get ready for breakfast at 0600; anything we can do to cut prep time is a blessing. Ten minutes extra in the sack is a Godsend."

McGee took a bite out of one doughnut and mumbled around it, "Send him to that table. I want a few questions answered, and a time/motion specialist might have them." He ambled away to the coffeepot, then settled at a table to enjoy his treats and coffee while he waited.

It didn't take long for the time/motion expert to show up. The expert turned out to be a small female Petty Officer named Glory Frak. When she introduced herself she gave McGee a 'don't even' look that made him shut his mouth on the first comment that popped into his head. Instead, he pointed to a seat and said, "Sit down, please." He then told her his problem and what he hopped to accomplish.

Her reply was all he'd hoped. "Ok, time and motion studies aren't usually applied to combat, so let me see if I have this straight. You have a four-man team that's worked together successfully for several years, but now they're in each other's way and tripping all over. So, first: what's different? What's the same? How is this different from successful missions? I'll have to take a look at... footage at least. I'd rather observe them in action in the field. But... we'll see." She frowned into the coffee a sailor had brought her.

McGee just shrugged. "If you want to observe, I'll take you down to the mockup tomorrow. I have a ton of footage. I'm running an analysis right now. I'll show you anything I have. But, while time is not yet of the essence, it's coming to a crunch fairly soon."

"I'll be right on it. Excuse me, sir."

She started to get up but paused when McGee said, "Don't call me sir; I'm not an officer."

"Okay; what do I call you?"

"Digimon is good. Special Agent McGee or Tim, is okay too." He returned his attention to his doughnuts and coffee, absently waving her on her way.

<><><><>

Gibbs aimed at the targets set up for him. One shot and he turned to Ziva. "Good?"

"Yes. You are right on target. Why did you say we had an afternoon's work?" Ziva wasn't complaining, she just wanted to know what Gibbs was up to.

"Not sayin' it's gonna happen, but, what if I go down? You need to be able to take up the slack." Gibbs watched Ziva for a moment.

Ziva, for her part, just smirked. "As you wish. I haven't had a chance to shoot this particular type of rifle enough." She got her rifle out and set it up. Gibbs took her place at the spotter's scope.

Ziva had been pleased to see her go-bag and rifle case when she'd woken up that morning. Her rifle was the same as Gibbs', which meant that she'd only shot that model a few times. This one was hers and, if she had to, she'd fight to keep it after this op was over. For now, all she wanted to do was get used to this one, in case she needed it.

Gibbs nodded to her and put his eyes to the scope. "Go."

Ziva eased back on the trigger, the rifle went off and Gibbs said, "High and right. One click down, three left."

"Three?" Ziva was a bit upset that she was that far off.

"Face is a lot narrower than a man's." Gibbs went back to his scope while Ziva made the adjustments.

The next shot was nearly perfect. Ziva examined it through her scope while Gibbs did calculations on a pad of paper. He finished with a sharp scratch of lead on paper. "Ok, one more click left ought to do it, factoring for the wind and whatnot."

Ziva made her adjustment and took her shot. She was pleased with this one and Gibbs gave a satisfied grunt. She started putting her equipment away without comment. There was nothing much to say after all.

<><><><>.

Tony eyed his team. "Ok, I know I'm hard on you. Anyone have a complaint?" He waited.

Cosmo just shook his head. "No, and you know it. I'd rather run 'til I puke than get captured. And... just for the record, I'd rather have you as a CO than anyone else. So calm down."

Tony glanced from man to man. Remy just grinned at him, while Dean nodded once. "Ok. So... what the hell?"

"Don't know. And we need to get a handle on this Charlie Foxtrot ASAP." Remy looked around. "Ideas?"

Heads shook, shoulders shrugged and they all looked at each other in frustration.

Tony decided, "Ok, we'll take a break until in the morning. Everyone tank up; Cosmo, you especially." Cosmo winced while everyone else looked at him sympathetically.

"Ok, AJ, you got it. Gatorade?" He fished hopefully in their cooler, exclaiming happily when he found several bottles of his favorite flavor. "Dibs on all the grape." Since no one else liked grape, no one called him on it.

<><><><>.

The next morning they assembled near the mockup and McGee introduced them to his expert. "Gentlemen, this is Petty Officer Glory Frak. She is a motion analysis expert, working in food services. I expect you to treat her with respect as she tries to help us with this... mess." He waited for rude comments from someone but didn't get any.

Tony eyed the woman for a moment then just barked, "Report already."

She braced and saluted, received appropriate salutes back and cleared her throat before beginning. "Thank you, sirs. What we have here is an incompatibility of motion..." She trailed off at the puzzled expressions. Since she was used to this from her contacts with Culinary Specialists, she just waved her hand and continued. "In other words, your body is expecting to do one thing and you're doing something else. Now, I don't exactly understand what the correlation between what you usually do and what you're doing now is, so I'd like to watch an actual dry run. That way I can try to get an idea of what is going wrong." She stopped talking and just waited.

Tony glanced around at his men and, getting nods from them all, told the Petty Officer, "Sounds like a plan. Let's go." He nodded at her uniform, "Might want to change into blueberrys; that service won't take to the field very well."

"Sir, yes sir. At once, sir." Tony sighed as the woman hurried off to change from her beige blouse and olive green skirt into blueberrys― thank goodness she lived in barracks on base. He knew he was a Lieutenant Commander and deserved the respect she showed, but he hated being blindly sir’ed. He shook it off and led the way into the mockup.

"Ok, everyone in your places. We'll wait for PO Frak in position."

At Tony's command, they all took their places in the stack at the gate. At Tony's request, Ziva and Gibbs stayed. They weren't the problem but, perhaps, their input could help figure out what was going on.

They held place for nearly 20 minutes until PO Frak showed up. She trotted up, slightly out of breath but ready to do her duty.

"Gentlemen, if you will?" She moved to an area where she could see everyone.

Tony nodded then barked, "Entry! Now!" and they fell all over themselves again.

Ziva looked at Gibbs, puzzled. It looked like a simple entry to her: cut the chain on the gate, open it and go in. But they were falling all over each other. Gibbs scowled back at her. He was lost too.

But PO Frak nodded to herself. "Ok, I think I see the problem but... would it be too much trouble to see a usual entry?"  
Tony shook his head. "No. We've got a building mockup over there." He pointed to a simple sheet metal building, sometimes referred to as a 'pole-built' building. "Come on."

They formed up again. This time, instead of a bolt cutter, Remy held a '[door-knocker]' in his hands. A [door-knocker] is a simple steel tube filled with shot with handles on it. A flat plate on one end provides an impact point. The Knocker swings the tube against a door, breaking it down in one or two blows.

Tony gave the command and, like the well-oiled machine they were, they accomplished entry in seconds. Remy knocked the door open in one blow then stepped out of the way, moving across the door while Tony, Dean, and Cosmo entered, covering each other. Remy dropped the knocker out of the way, drew his weapon, and followed, covering their backs. And that was the problem.

PO Frak nodded to herself as she watched. When they had accomplished a smooth, perfect entry, she had seen what everyone else failed to. She hesitantly called the group together then cleared her throat. She was used to working with cooks, Culinary Experts, wait staff, and that sort of thing. This bunch of fierce-eyed, hard-bodied men made her nervous.

Tony, realizing what her problem was, said, "Ok, you animals, sit down; give the lady your attention."

This made it a bit worse, in one way, as the undivided, laser-like regard of four SEALs, an ex-Scout Sniper and a beautiful woman with eyes like blued steel was most disconcerting. It was better, in that they weren't looming over her like... she wasn't sure what.

"Well, um..." She cleared her throat again. She jumped when someone offered her a bottle of water, then took it. "Thank you." She drank, looked down, then gathered herself. They needed her help and she was going to give it. "I think I can see what the problem is. We call it muscle memory. See... when you train to do something, your body becomes used to doing things that way; it makes it easier to do things efficiently. Your body knows what to do, so you can think of other things..."

Cosmo laughed then said, "Yeah, like not getting your ass blown off."

Tony barked, "Shut it!" then returned his attention to the PO.

PO Frak just nodded. "Exactly. So, your body is expecting you to do one thing, but you're telling it to do another. So... I think, if you change positions, it will break up that dynamic. But you're going to have to train like crazy to break the habits. I don't think it will affect the dynamic you already use for... er... door-knocking. It'll just teach you a new dynamic, as each person will be doing a different job."

Remy whined, "Aw, AJ, more training? Really? Man." He dragged the last word out like a little kid.

Tony snorted, "Shut up. LeBeau, you're a whiny little bitch. Suck it up."

But both Cosmo and Dean started bitching too. Tony let them go for a bit then barked at them to shut up and get with the program.

PO Frak looked at all of them like they'd lost their minds. Ziva couldn't resist. She sidled up to the horrified Petty Officer and said, softly, "Do not let all the whining and kvetching fool you. They're not being disrespectful or insubordinant. They're just letting off... how do you say it? Storm?"

"You mean steam?"

"Yes, that is it. They are letting off steam. They have been frustrated, now they have much work to do. Excuse me, Gibbs is signaling me." Ziva went to see what Gibbs wanted.

Gibbs nodded at the PO. "She ok?"

"Yes, just a bit... put up by the reaction. I explained." Ziva looked justifiably satisfied with herself. "I think McGee should escort her back to her workstation."

Gibbs corrected, "Put out. I'll escort her. You stay here. Now that we know what to look for, you can lend an eye. McGee stays as handler." He got up and ambled over to the Petty Officer. No one was fooled for a second; he wanted coffee.

PO Frak accepted the escort with a slight smile. "Yes, thank you. I know you Marines and your ulterior motives."

Gibbs eyed her, startled, and a bit indignant. "Ulterior motives?" He wondered, rather blankly, exactly what she was implying.

"Yes. All you're really interested in is getting into my coffee pot." She laughed softly at his thunderstruck expression. "Marines. Really." She trotted off with Gibbs at her heels.

While Gibbs escorted the PO back to her office, unashamedly scavenging a cup of coffee from her in the process, McGee got with Tony to discuss changing roles in the stack.

"Ok, Remy usually breaks down the door. Why don't we put him on the left side, with Dean behind him. You breach the gate, with Cosmo behind you. You cut the chain then put the cutters aside while Cosmo covers you. Remy and Dean will go straight through the gate to cover your entry. After that, it's all according to plan." McGee looked satisfied with the idea; his voice had sounded through all their earwigs so everyone knew the plan.

A voice, easily identified as Remy, said, "And you know how plans go."

Cosmo nodded wisely. "Yeah, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. But, it is a plan. Let's go."

Tony nodded, McGee gave the command, and they started. Tony cut the lock, then stepped away to the right. Remy charged the gate with Dean right behind him. Tony followed, with Cosmo on his heels. The entry was clean, quick, and silent.

McGee announced, "Good. Again." So they did it again. And again.

At sometime during the eight run-throughs, Gibbs returned. They did one more run-through for him, then sat down for a critique.

Gibbs started, "I didn't see any problems. You've got it down pat. But, don't get cocky; things can go sideways in a second."

Ziva nodded, "This is true, but I saw no problems. How was communication with McGee?"

McGee answered that. "Communication was five-by-five. I can hear everyone, and I know your voices. But... you might still want to identify yourselves for safety's sake."

Tony nodded. "Right. If we have to include locals, that's a must. Don't want a friendly-fire incident. The last one was a bitch."

Every SEAL nodded his agreement, various expressions of dismay crossing their faces.

They spent the next hour analyzing every facet of their mission, looking for flaws or oversights. They didn't find anything, so they broke up the meeting to get something to eat and a little rest. They knew that other arrangements were being made, but trusted their support team to do the necessary things.

<><><><>.

It took two more days to get everything in order, days that vacillated between boredom and frantic activity. Gibbs didn't have the patience for the schmoozing, as he called it, that was necessary to get the locals, Navy, and NCIS in sync, but Tony, or Lieutenant Commander 'call me AJ' DiNozzo, did.

Gibbs wondered, rather vaguely, how the hell they were going to coordinate a bunch of civilian locals into what was primarily a military operation. He didn't want anyone getting killed, civilian cop or Navy SEAL. This was the primary reason he hated dealing with locals; they didn't understand the military mindset, never mind that most police departments were quasi-military in organization. This meant that they got in the way, destroyed or contaminated evidence, and, in general, interfered.

McGee and Ziva just ignored this part of the op as not within their purview. McGee actually told Ziva, "I'm glad I don't have to deal with that. Glad-handing isn't my favorite thing." Then he'd had to spend five minutes explaining 'glad-handing' to Ziva. It had served to pass some time.

Tony was in his element. He was a natural politician; his easy way and natural diplomacy came in handy when handling touchy locals, no matter if they were Afghani, Iraqi—or American. He had the sheriff in his pocket, so to speak.

Gibbs watched him as he smiled at the man. The Sheriff was in his late fifties, an elected official and genial.

"Hell, boy. Don't care what you do. Just get that bunch of nutballs out of my county. They've been nothing but trouble for the last four years or so. Scare off tourists, harass the locals, tear up the countryside with their war games, and, in general, a pain in my nether regions." He shook his head. "Not to mention a few disappearances that I'd like to connect them to. But... I'll just be glad if you move them out." He turned to lean on the bed of a pickup truck next to Gibbs. "So, what do you want from me?"

Gibbs rubbed his face. "I'm just a grunt here. Ask DiNozzo, he's in charge of this op. SEALs are the lead here."

"I see." The Sheriff gave Gibbs a sympathetic look. "Hard to hand over the reins, isn't it?"

Gibbs grimaced. "It is. But he actually out-ranks me by ten pay grades. I'm a Gunnery Sergeant, retired, and he's an active service Lieutenant Commander, US Navy SEAL."

Sheriff Mackintosh grimaced. "But... I thought you're his boss."

"In NCIS, I am. He's my SFA; I'm Senior Agent." Gibbs watched as a group of deputies started loading things on ATV's.

"How's that workin' out?" The Sheriff looked genuinely interested.

"Not too bad. We seem to be able to compartmentalize fairly well. Doesn't hurt that Tony doesn't give a damn, anymore than I do." Gibbs allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

"Tony? Thought his name was AJ?"

Gibbs snorted, then drawled, "Anthony Dominic DiNozzo, Junior, actually. Never knew he preferred to be called AJ until recently. I'm still gettin' used to it."

The Sheriff jerked up from his lean on the tailgate of the pickup they were leaning on, swearing. "Jesus Christ on a cracker. Those boys'll get their stupid selves killed yet." He rushed off to keep someone from putting too much weight on the back of an ATV and none on the front. Gibbs shook his head; probies were the same all over, NCIS or some sheriff's office.

Then Dean came over with coffee. He handed Gibbs a cup and sighed, "Damn, Cos is bitching again. Remy is gettin' ready to hand him his head. AJ better go talk to him."

Gibbs pointed. "Already is. What's his problem?"

Dean shrugged, "Doesn't like civvies in an op. Makes him nervous; that makes him bitchy."

"Oh." Gibbs thought that over for a second. "Me too."

Dean grinned, "I know. But at least you don't act like a whiny little bitch. He's singin' soprano. He doesn't get a grip soon, AJ's gonna kick his ass."

Gibbs, well aware that Cos' attitude was a put-on, asked, "And what's behind all that?"

Dean gave Gibbs a sad look, "Lost about half his old platoon because he didn't listen to his gut. Now, he's all out of whack. He'll get better, or he won't. PTSD's a bitch."

"Bad?" Gibbs knew plenty of men with PTSD in one form or another. He didn't even deny he had it. But he needed to know what triggers to avoid.

"No, just makes him bitchy before an op." Dean heaved himself off the tailgate and ambled away to deal with something or other.

Remy was the next to show. The big man leaned against the back wheel-well and gazed at Gibbs for a few seconds. "How's this gonna work?"

Gibbs didn't even pretend not to know what Remy was taking about. "Easy. He orders, I do. If we were in an NCIS op, it'd be the other way around. Tony's not stupid, and neither am I." He looked into his empty cup then pinned Remy with a cold, blue stare. "You just watch his back. Or I'll be speaking to you again."

Remy nodded. "I've always got his six. Every day in every way. Just like you've got it, and he's got yours."

And last, but not least, Cosmo showed up. Gibbs accepted the coffee he offered and smirked into the cup as Cos immediately began to bitch.

"Dammit, Gunny, why the hell do we have to have a bunch of civvies in on this? They'll just get in the way, get hurt, or get us hurt. And then they'll claim all the glory. Not that I need glory or any more medals, but still. It's just not right." His whiny tone of voice grated on Gibbs.

"Well, take a deep breath and get over it. I don't like it any better than you do. I hate having civilians, or cops, or the Febbies in the middle of any op. But, we're kinda stuck with 'em." Gibbs' sour expression seemed to touch something in Cosmo.

"Well, the last time I got civvies in an op, I lost everything. And I do mean everything. Except my life. Don't like this, and I'm not gonna shut up about it." Cos got that stubborn expression that told Gibbs all he needed to know. Cosmos was on the screaming edge of a meltdown.

"Easy there, cowboy; don't let DiNozzo hear you. He'll take you on the mats." Gibbs hoped this was the right approach.

Turned out that it was. "Oh, no! No mats! Sorry I said a word."

Gibbs smirked at him. "No, you're not. You're just sorry I called you on it. But..." He finished his coffee. "I don't think we're going to have to actually worry about anyone gettin' in our way. Exactly what have you been told?"

"Smoke 'em out... Oh. We go in, take down the main building. The ones most likely to be our guys, and most likely to actually put up resistance. The rest will rabbit... right into the hands of the waiting deputies." He sighed softly. "Great. I like it."

Gibbs smiled, "I'm goin' for coffee."

Cos snorted softly, then whispered, "In other words, My job here is done. Ooo-rah."

Gibbs got more coffee from the sandwich truck that had shown up at the 'secret' HQ that the Sheriff had set up.

Tony ambled over to get a bottle of water, mumbled, "Some top-secret op, huh, Boss?"

Gibbs sighed. "Yeah. But... you'd be surprised how quiet this sort of small town can be about something. I get the feeling that the only reason that compound hasn't been raided before now is, they couldn't find a reason. Bet everyone and his dog knows about this... except the people who might warn our targets."

Tony nodded, "Forgot you grew up in a town like this."

Gibbs eyed the approaching Sheriff with some ire. "Yes, I did."

The big sheriff slowed down at the sight that greeted him. The hesitation was natural, nothing like having the combined power of two psychologically powerful men glowering at you to put you off.

"Well, here we are." Sheriff Mackintosh sighed. "I know what you're thinkin'. Don't. No one outside this compound knows anything. It's not easy keeping an operation like this one secret but we want that buncha nutballs gone. So, those who know, aren't talking; those who'd talk, don't know. So relax and quit lookin' at me like you'd like ta eat me."

Tony laughed softly. "Sorry. We're used to working in a slightly different environment."

The Sheriff nodded. "You really got one of those eyeball scanner things to get into... what did you call it? MTAC?"

Gibbs chuckled into his coffee. "Sure do. And a fingerprint scanner that checks for body temp. Very high tec. And, if you want to know more about it than that, you'll have to ask McGee."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, very. But that's not what I'm talking about. Half the team is SEAL, Ziva's Mossad-trained, Gibbs was a Scout Sniper, McGee's the only one without military experience. That's why he's communications and data collection. And he's so good with computers that he can make one do the Macarena. He's grass in an operation like this one."

Sheriff Macintosh blinked, "Grass?" his tone of voice made the question obvious.

"Green and bound to be walked on. He's a good man, but his lack of experience makes him a danger to himself and others."

McGee's voice from behind them made them jump. "Thanks for the 'good man'. But I am a danger in the stack, just like Ziva would be. I'm content to do what I can. And on that note: We've got the green light. You need to be geared up and ready at dusk." He looked at his watch. "Two hours, gentlemen."

Tony surged up from his lean, jerking his body erect in one quick move. "Sheriff, you need to collect your deputies and get them organized. We're relying on you to collect the perps and keep them in hand. Hope you've got enough men."

Sheriff Macintosh just shrugged. "I do. I've called in both auxiliary officers and a few volunteers. The Highway Patrol is on hand too."

Tony nodded. "Good, good. I knew you could do it. How many full-time deputies do you have?"

The sheriff looked tired all of a sudden. "Well, since my nephew took off, two." He perked up a bit as he went on, "One of 'em's my second cousin's oldest, the other's my youngest brother. We work well together. The two auxiliary officers are some sort of cousin. They're over there with the boys." He smirked. "One of the reasons I knew I could trust 'em not to blab. Mom'd be after 'em all with her spoon."

McGee made a face then trotted off to the 'portable' MTAC trailer to take his place and check on the last of his job. He had put off issuing earwig-compatible radios until last minute.

Tony took a small package from a pocket and popped it into his mouth; the resultant crunch made the sheriff jump.

"What the ...?"

Gibbs eyed Tony for a moment. "What hurts?"

"Mostly everything." Tony grinned, "Gettin' old for this job. During an op, I live on SEAL milk and grunt candy."

Gibbs made a sympathetic face. He knew full well how it felt.

Tony was still a young man, but he was older for a SEAL. And the injuries he'd acquired over the years didn't help.

At the sheriff's still puzzled expression, Tony explained further. "I wrap analgesic pills in edible rice paper, then put them in a ziplock baggie; it's called grunt candy, as most Marines and all SEALs live on the stuff. That and SEAL milk."

"Ok, I get the grunt candy but what the hell's SEAL milk?"

Gibbs and Tony both said, "Coffee!"

The sheriff chuckled deep in his chest and declared, "I should have known. Most cop shops run on it too. Brain fuel." He ambled off to join his assigned group.

It didn't take long for everyone to get into place. McGee checked on positioning, then told them, "Mission Green. That's a go."

The SEALs popped the gate without a hitch and moved in. It didn't take them more than a second or two to reach the target building. Then all hell broke loose.

The first sign the terrorists had that something was going on was the sound of an unsilenced Highway Patrol chopper overhead. The chopper had been warmed up and waiting in a valley nearby. Its FLIR would send pictures to McGee, who would then radio information to the relevant team. This was all his idea, as the signals were actually faster than satellite images.

Gibbs and Ziva had taken their place. They didn't really need snipers, they hoped, but they were in place just in case. And they were on the com so they could relay all their observations to McGee. Who knew what might be important. Now, they watched through their night-vision binoculars as white patches moved around. The SEALs wore 'blippers,' which flashed so that they knew who was who.

Gibbs watched as three unmarked targets moved quickly in their direction. "Ziver, we've got tangos approaching."

Ziva just grunted and drew her knife. Gibbs stood up to join her, telling McGee, "Got three coming our way."

McGee replied, "Got 'em. Your call."

"Not a problem. Lady Mossad and I can deal." Gibbs set himself.

The three 'men' turned out to be in their late teens and had no idea what they'd gotten themselves into. One look at Gibbs and they were on the ground, crying for their mom. Ziva snorted in disgust. They hooked them up, stuffed them into a 'corner,' and returned to their observation.

McGee watched as the tagged blobs moved to the target building. He could see other hot spots in nearby buildings. "There's three hots in structure six. Two in structure four. The HQ has seven." He waited while the SEALs closed in on the HQ. "Three on the move from... a tent. Viper and Lady Mo have them."

"Badger, we've got fourteen tangos to deal with. Ya gonna haveta make a call." Cos didn't sound happy.

Tony replied, "I know. Knock out, if you can. Otherwise, extreme prejudice. Not takin' a chance on losin' one of ours."

Various versions of 'got it' sounded over the com.

They moved into position at the only door to the building. Cos tossed a flashbang into the main room; they covered up and waited the two seconds until detonation. The bright flash of light and loud bang confused the men in the HQ, but it also warned the other seven men that something was going on.

The seven men in the room jumped, stumbled, or staggered to their feet, depending on how bad their hangover was. Only three of the seven were actually in any condition to fight. At Tony's hand signal, Remy pounced on the man closest to him.

This man was hung over, so it didn't take Remy but a second to flip him onto his stomach and cuff him with flex cuffs. A quick blow to the head put him back out. He moved on to the second target assigned to him. Tony's quick hand gestures had assigned targets to all four of them.

While Remy was dealing with his targets, Cos, Dean, and AJ were doing the same thing. Tony had assigned each man one drunk and one 'live' target. The surprise would allow them to deal with the drunks effectively. The alert targets would stay confused just long enough—he hoped.

His hope was to be disappointed. Of the three alert men, one crashed out the nearby window, yelling for help. The other two thought they were knife fighters.

AJ took on one while Dean took on the other. Dean's man was much bigger than he was, but he was a 'slash and stabber' while Dean was more of a 'wait and kill' sort. This meant that the terrorist danced around like a demented ninja, wearing himself out and showing Dean all his moves while Dean just stayed out of his way. This just made the man angry, which allowed Dean an opening, which he took advantage of. Reversing his knife so that the hilt was to the fore, Dean thwacked his opponent in the temple with the pommel, knocking him out. It took him seconds to flex-cuff him and return to help someone.

AJ had gotten one of the sort of knife fighter who just stood and waited for his opponent to do something first. AJ didn't go first, so they just stood and looked at each other for a moment. Then AJ reversed his knife and threw it. It hit the terrorist, butt first, right between the eyes; he went down hard and didn't get up. AJ cuffed him. He turned just in time to nearly run into Dean. They grinned at each other without humor and each man took a quick look around.

Every man had taken care of his targets. No one was hurt except the terrorists, and they were all down and out for the count.

"Digimon? Our target is clear. SitRep."

"Badger. Confirm... Your target is clear. Lady Mo and Viper have three. There's still eight tangos unaccounted for. Locations... three on the move in your direction. Five headed into the arms of either the sheriff or HP. Be careful."

Various 'okays’ answered this.

AJ motioned for the team to move out of the building, leaving their prisoners for later collection. They weren't going anywhere with their ankles flex-cuffed.

The single door that had been an asset now turned into a liability. It was now a bottleneck which forced the SEALs to exit one at a time. But they bailed out, diving to one side or the other as fast as they could. The few shots that were aimed their way, missed.

All three terrorists thought that throwing ammo at the SEALs, on the spray-and-pray theory, would save them. They were wrong. The armor that all of the SEALs wore was proof up to heavy-arms fire. Not to say that the impact wouldn't do some damage, but the group didn't have anything more than 9mm's.

AJ took a round to the chest, right on the stab plate. It didn't penetrate even that far, but the impact was like being punched in the chest by a heavyweight. He gasped, doubled over for a second, then ran on.

Dean wasn't quite as lucky; a round aimed at his head caught him in the forearm. He just ignored it, after the first swear-word.

Remy and Cos escaped without injury, something they would hear about later―in detail, with whining.

Right now, though, they had much more important things to deal with.

Gibbs, watching carefully, snarled. This wasn't going according to plan; there were more men than expected, and they were more scattered. Most of them headed for the gates, but a few had decided to put up a fight. They were headed for the HQ. He saw Tony stagger then regain his feet. "Ziver, spot me."

Ziva, who had been watching through the spotter’s scope, asked, "Targets?"

"Start at the back of the bunch." Gibbs turned to his scope.

Ziva checked, then rechecked. "You are going to have to... wing it. They are moving much too fast for me to help."

"Gotcha." Gibbs lined up and took his first shot. He was aiming for center body mass and hoping for anything. Not that he wasn't perfectly capable of hitting a moving target, just that he was hoping not to kill someone with intel. His shot was off just a bit so, instead of hitting him in the shoulder, he hit him in the chest. Wrong side for the heart, but the bullet punctured a lung. Not so good for the terrorist. The medics would save his life, for him to go to Gitmo.

The entire operation took 10 minutes. The escapees were captured by the Sheriff and his Deputies or the Highway Patrol. The chopper hovered until McGee dismissed it; then it tipped slightly as it returned to base, the pilot's cheerful, "See you on the ground, Digimon" signaling his acceptance of his dismissal.

Gibbs and Ziva made their way down to the compound to find Tony and the others.

When they reached the area, Gibbs could hear Tony swearing. "Dammit! He's such a shit-magnet." Gibbs loped off in the direction of Tony's voice.

Ziva started to follow, but McGee's voice in her ear asked, "Do we have a body count yet?"

"No." Ziva cast one longing look in the direction Gibbs had gone. "I'll start, shall I?"

"Please." McGee turned back to his monitors and readouts.

The mission was successful; the men they had captured would lead them to others. The Sheriff had promised that the compound would be 'sanitized.'

Tony had mumbled, "With a bulldozer," as he'd walked away.

The sheriff had chuckled and allowed, "Possible."

Gibbs reached Tony just as he got his body armor off. "DiNozzo?"

Tony just mumbled, "Ow. Fuck. Got hit in the chest, Boss."

Gibbs rubbed his face with one hand. He felt every second of the adrenalin overload he'd been under. "With what?" His bark made the medic look at him.

"9mm. I'm ok. Hit the stab plate. But it hurts like a motherfucker." Tony looked down, trying to get a look at the bruise blooming on his chest.

Gibbs got a good look. "Not that bad. Gonna be rainbow-colored for a while."

Tony sighed, popped some grunt candy, and leaned back on the tree the bench he was sitting on was under. "Figured that. You ok?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah. Could use some Vitamin M. My knee's killing me." He accepted the offered packet and popped it into his mouth. After chewing loudly, he continued, "Twisted it. Got three tangos at our position."

"Ouch. They accounted for?"

"Yeah. Turned them over to a couple of deputies before we came down."

Tony looked around. "Ziva?"

"Body count." Gibbs eyed Tony. "Where the hell is your earwig? You shouldn't have to ask all these questions."

Tony patted his neck, looking for the mentioned electronics. "I'm not sure. Should be right..."

The medic reached to the side. "Here. I took it off you so I could get your vest off. Sorry. Didn't know you were still online."

" 'S ok. Just need to talk to Digimon for a moment." Tony stuck the earwig back in his ear.

Gibbs listened unashamedly on his own as McGee filled them all in on the finish of the op.

"People. The compound is secured, I repeat, the compound is secured. Three targets secured from sniper point. Four from west gate. Seven from HQ. Eight from yard. Two from main gate. Sweep commencing for unsecured escapees in surrounding area. Highway Patrol and Sheriff's Deputies are doing that on ATV's. Stand down."

And with that, it was all over. The SEALs were on standby, to be sure, but the rest of the op was to be left up to the locals. The prisoners would be turned over to Naval personnel, Shore Patrol, as soon as they were cleared by medics.

Gibbs turned as the Sheriff walked up.

"Well, wasn't that a hoot." Sheriff Macintosh grimaced, sarcasm evident. "Got you a squat. Not much, just the local B&B. Mildred is a nice woman, an' she'll let you sleep yourselves out. Come on."

Tony groaned his way to his feet, leaning on Remy. "Need ta find Deano."

Gibbs nodded. "You head for the bus; I'll find Dean and bring him. Ziva too."

Cosmo was with Dean, who was hooked up to an IV while a medic tried to explain to him that he had to go to the hospital to be stitched up. Dean was in no mood to listen and was insisting that the medic stitch him up or give him a suture kit so he could do it himself. Gibbs put the kibosh on that at once.  
"Dean, don't be an idiot. Tony'll have your hide. Go to the ER. Call when you're sewn up, and someone'll come get you." He helped the medics load the loudly protesting SEAL into an ambulance, followed by Cosmo. He banged on the side of the ambulance when they were loaded to let the driver know he could go.

McGee, hearing the whole thing on the still open comm line, let Tony know what was going on. Tony just thanked him and settled in the SUV to wait for Gibbs to come.

It didn't take long for the rest of the combined team to join him. Tony was a bit relieved to see that Remy was driving. He didn't think he could stand Gibbs', or, worse, Ziva's driving right now.

Miz Mildred had run a B&B for over 20 years. She'd opened it with her ex-Army Ranger husband and continued on without him when he'd died of some mysterious disease five years later. She was still much the same as she'd been then. Tall, well-set, straight-backed, and gimlet-eyed, with a heart of gold. Her short dark hair didn't show a trace of silver.

The Sheriff had told her to be ready for just about anything, so she wasn't that put out by the limping, silver-haired man who showed up on her porch supported by a dark-haired, exotically beautiful young woman. The tall younger man behind him moved as if he was in some sort of pain.

She had to snicker a bit when the young woman told the older man, "Gibbs, shut up. If you do not let me help you, I will kick your tuchus. You will do that knee no good by being stubborn."

Gibbs' reply nearly put Miz Mildred on the floor. "I'm fine." This while limping down the hall.

"Well. Rooms are all set up. There's three doubles on this floor. Two on the next up. Both floors have a common room with a TV. The top floor is out of bounds, as that's my private quarters. Breakfast is when you come down. Just this once. So... how many will there be?"

Tony grumbled a bit then answered. "Me and Remy will take a room. Ziva needs a single. Gibbs the same. McGee..." He paused to rub his eyes. "Cosmo and Dean need a room together. McGee... Boss?" His chest was so painful that he'd taken some stronger meds; they left him feeling fuzzy.

"Stand down, sailor; I got it. I'll room with McGee so that he can get up and get me stuff, help me to the head. Ziva rooms alone. You and Remy in a double and Dean and Cosmo in another. Ma'am?" Gibbs swayed slightly as Ziva lost her balance a bit.

"Ok, I got it. You two in here. You in here. Miss, this one for you. I'll wait for the other gentlemen and show them upstairs. If you need anything, extra towels or whatnot, let me know." She started off, then turned back to say, "And all the rooms have private baths, and the hot water heater will keep up. It's on-demand." She walked off, her stride firm, shoulders straight; planning breakfast that would be quick so she could feed her boarders as soon as they came down.

It didn't take them long to get sorted out. Ziva dumped Gibbs in his room, telling him to shower now. "I'll bring your bag in. I have to go out for mine."

Gibbs just sat down on the foot of the bed and started unlacing his boots. "Thanks." He rubbed his forehead. "I'm damn glad we don't have to debrief tonight."

Ziva scowled at that thought. "I too am very glad. I never understood the need for exhausted people to have to sit around for hours, telling their story over and over. I will be right back."

<><><><>.

Tony groaned at the thought of lifting his arms. He needed out of his dirty, sweaty clothing in the worst way, but it was going to hurt.

Remy knew exactly what was wrong and said, "Just give me time to get my boots off. I'll have you stripped down and in the shower in just a minute. You first, then me. Then bed."

Tony relaxed at that. "Thanks. And... hey, no debrief. At least, not until we get back to DC. Nice."

"Seriously." Remy dropped his boots on the floor. It didn't take him long to help Tony strip, just a matter of pulling his t-shirt off over his head.

Tony finished undressing and tossed his clothing onto the floor out of the way. He put his pocket junk on his bedside table, right next to his 9mm. He headed for the shower acknowledging Remy's call of, "Headed out to get our bags," with a short grumble.

Ziva met Remy at the SUV. "Bags?"

Remy nodded and fished out hers and Gibbs'. He handed them to her, then turned to find his. "Oh, McGee's bag is here. You be able to carry all three?"

Ziva nodded. "Yes, I can manage. It's not far. And Gibbs... he packs like a Marine. But McGee? Kitchen sink? Is that the right expression?"

Remy gave her a weary smile. "Yeah. AJ, he packs like he's going out for months. Here." He handed over McGee's bag and watched for a moment to be sure that Ziva could handle all three bags without strain. When he saw that she could, he grabbed his load and went back inside.

When he got back to the room, Tony was sitting on his bed, a towel across his lap. He took the bag and rummaged to find a pair of boxers. He usually slept in boxers and a t-shirt, so it wasn't that long before he was in bed and sleeping soundly. Remy regarded him with some fondness, then went to shower himself.

Tim McGee had stayed at his post until the last of the prisoners was dealt with. He'd shut the MTAC trailer down and woke the driver up to drive the thing back to DC. Now he was exhausted, sweaty, and ready for bed. He'd even accepted a ride from a deputy who was headed in the same general direction as the B&B he was assigned to. He could have taken a cab, but the offer was most gratefully accepted.

He got out of the cruiser, thanking the officer as he did. "Thanks for the ride. Now all I have to do is find my go-bag. Good night." He wondered briefly if he should have said good morning; it was now 3am.

McGee grumbled as he headed for the SUV. He was tired and didn't want to have to dig through the accumulated junk in the back to look for his bag. The note taped to the back glass made him chuckle a bit. "McGoodman, don't bother. You're in with Gibbs, bag in room. 'Night. AJ"

Thanking Tony for his thoughtfulness, McGee opened the front door then stopped as he had no idea which room was his. This problem was solved by Gibbs.

"In here." Gibbs stuck his head out the door of their room, jerked it in the general direction of 'in' and disappeared. "Shower's hot. I'm goin' back to bed."

McGee couldn't help a slight chuckle. Gibbs might be having a bit of trouble with his close vision, but there was nothing wrong with his near bat-like hearing.

He stepped into the running and just hot enough shower, got himself clean and into sleep pants and t-shirt. The bed was turned down, so he was asleep in seconds.

Gibbs smiled to himself, rolled over and went back to sleep too.

<><><><>.

Morning came, and went. Noon arrived. Gibbs woke up for the second time and got up. He wasn't adverse to a late day, when it was really needed. He took care of the three S's and went in search of his drug of choice.

He was happy to see a large coffeemaker with a pot full on the warmer. He poured a cup and sipped. His sigh brought Miz Mildred from the sunporch.

"Mornin'. Or more like good afternoon. Hungry?" Mildred smiled at Gibbs. "Marine?"

"Yeah, retired. How'd you know?" Gibbs quirked one eyebrow but followed into the kitchen.

"I know military when I see it. Wasn't a military wife for fifteen years for nothin'. An' there's just something about a Marine that screams out. So." She opened the fridge and pulled out a tray covered with breakfast makings. "Eggs, steak, hash browns, toast. What else?"

Gibbs laughed softly. "Kitchen sink, garden, whatever. Where's the man of the house?"

"Died. One of those..." she cleared her throat. "Viet Nam syndrome things. Agent Orange, if you ask me. Army didn't 'fess up to anything. Got his pension. We had five good years here. Got me started. Good enough for me. Gov'ment can just leave well enough alone. If you take my drift." She started on prep for skillets full of food.

"Sorry. Coffee's good. Need any help?" Gibbs knew all about her problem. The Army still refused to deal well with dependents from the Viet Nam era. Pissed him off.

"Help? You?" Miz Mildred snorted and went back to cracking eggs.

"Hey! Marine here." He smiled a bit ruefully. "Not a golden boy by any means. Plenty of KP in my past. Still know how to peel a 'tater."

Mildred laughed, a happy, ringing thing that lightened the kitchen. "Ok, ok. Here." She produced a bag of potatoes, two bowls and a peeler. "Knock yourself out."

Gibbs settled, with his coffee at his elbow, to peel enough potatoes to make hash browns for eight hungry people. She admitted to eating breakfast; but, as she admitted, eight a.m. was awhile ago.

Tony was the next awake. He got up and wandered into the bathroom, kicking the leg of Remy's bed on the way.

Remy woke up at the jar. "Huh? Wha?" He sat up, then yelled, "Dammit, AJ, ya could’a let me sleep until you were done."

A rather maniacal laugh was his only reply. He flopped back down on the bed then got up and grabbed his pack to find some clothing. He knew he still needed to be in uniform, so that was what he dug out. He also got out AJ's things. He contemplated knotting the legs and sleeves, then rejected that, as starting a prank war with AJ was somewhat like going swimming in shark-infested waters... after they'd been chummed.

McGee woke at the same time, looked for Gibbs, didn't see him, and started to roll over to go back to sleep. Then it hit him: Gibbs wasn't in bed. That meant that he was up, which meant he needed to get up too. He glanced at his watch: noon. He started to scramble out of bed, then relaxed. If Gibbs had wanted him up, he'd be up. So he took his time, got out clothing, and showered and shaved, then headed for the kitchen and the delicious smells.

When he got to the kitchen, he found that, while Cosmo was a whiner before a mission, Dean was just like Tony after one. Every little ache and pain was catalogued, complained about, and reiterated. Ad nauseam.

When he slipped into the chair that was obviously his, Cosmo was saying, "Dean, dammit, six stitches. Only six."

Dean whined, "Yeah, right on the bone. Hurt like a mother."

Tony said, "Shut up, Dean, you whiny little bitch. I got shot too. In the chest. Talk about hurt. Ow! And did I say the bruise is the size of a plate? A stab plate."

Ziva was watching the conversation like it was a tennis match, turning her head to look at the speakers in turn.

Her expression made Miz Mildred pat her on the shoulder and whisper, "Don't worry. As long as they're not bringing mothers into it, it's fine. Men; can't live with 'em, can't chain 'em in the yard."

Ziva, who had been expecting a full-on fist-fight any second, relaxed and began to pay more attention to the tone of voice and facial expressions and less to the actual words.

Meanwhile, Gibbs, tired of the whining comparison of wounds, whistled, then barked, "Both of you, can it. I'll check you both before we leave. Miz Mildred has to be tired of listening to both of you whine like girls."

Miz Mildred, who couldn't have cared less, just snorted and advised calmly, "If you want to eat, no more cussin' at my table. Right?"

After everyone chorused, "Ma'am, yes ma'am." she started putting food on the table. Since it was family-style, they all waited politely until she was seated. Mildred took her serving first, then passed the service to her right.

It didn't take long for everyone to have a plate of food. The only sounds for several minutes were those of cutlery on china.

They were soon down to pan scrapings and toast scraps. Miz Mildred got up and started to remove the dishes. Tony nodded to Cosmo and Remy, who immediately started helping.

Gibbs nodded at Tony and settled to watch the proceedings with interest.

Cosmo ran hot water into one sink then let it run in the other. Miz Mildred started to put the first dish into the sink but Remy stopped her. "No, Ma'am. Cosmo will wash, I'll dry and you put away. That way stuff gets back in the right places."

"Well, thank you, boys. That's right thoughtful of you." The lady knew when to cut her losses, as the saying goes. She was well pleased with her guests. Most didn't even think about the aggravation of bringing food from the kitchen to the diningroom; these didn't even realize she had one. And no one, in her memory, had washed up for her.

It didn't take them long to finish up and clean the stove, countertops, and table. After they were finished, Gibbs asked Miz Mildred, "Ok, what's the damage?"

She nodded. "Desk is over there." She led the way to her big oak desk and settled in the old-fashioned black leather office chair. "Got the bill right here." She handed it to Gibbs who just gave it back, along with an official NCIS credit card. She processed it quickly and handed it back with a thank you.

Gibbs tucked the card away. "We'll be off then. Thanks for everything."

"Welcome. Drop back by when you can enjoy it." She smiled, but didn't bother to get up; just offered her hand to shake, then watched as Gibbs went back to the group.

Tony had overseen everyone getting their bags into one of the SUV's. His SEAL team was headed back to Quantico to debrief, while the NCIS team was headed back to the Yard for the same. He wondered where he should go, Quantico or Yard, so he called Captain McKinley. The Captain, well aware of how nuts this team got, told him they all needed to go to the Yard, as the op had been initiated by NCIS.

This made everything a lot easier, as all the resources of NCIS would be at their disposal, including stenographers from the secretarial pool. They didn't usually bother, but this op had been big, and all their intel had to be collated into one report, plus their own personal recollections.

They accomplished the drive back in twanging silence. Gibbs was well aware that all the SEALs were still high; Ziva was too. The only one of them that seemed not to be running on nerves was McGee. He had his nose stuck in his laptop.

Tony was constantly on the phone to the other vehicle, keeping his SEAL team from doing some very odd things, including highway-surfing. Gibbs just rubbed his face, dreading and hoping for their arrival at the Yard.

<><><><>.

The arrival wasn't that bad, despite the fact that Remy and Cosmo solemnly insisted on helping the guards check out both vehicles. This made the inspection, which usually took about five minutes, take nearly thirty. The two Marines on duty took their antics in stride, well aware of exactly what they were dealing with. They'd both been to Iraq, three times, and knew how wound-up men could get. Neither one even blinked at Ziva's insistent attempts to flirt, just smiling at her in an absent-minded way and going back to keeping Remy from using the inspection mirror to look up women's skirts.

Gibbs didn't bother to try to rein them in; he just kept Tony and Dean from joining in. Not that either man really wanted to. Now that all the adrenalin was out of their systems and they'd had a good night's sleep, they were really feeling the effects of their wounds. Tony was sore all over, while Dean was having great trouble moving his arm. It was evident that both of them needed a trip to the hospital. It was also evident that neither one was going. Ducky was going to have to take x-rays and deal as best he could.

And deal he did. He announced, after proper consultation with Jimmy, that Dean had a mild torus fracture; it wasn't even a 'proper' break. The bone was cracked and required a brace. Ducky said, "Now, my friend, I know your sort. Keep that brace on except when you're showering. No hand-to-hand training, or any other activities. Come back in five days and I'll give it another look." He gave Dean a stern look. "And I'll want to keep an eye on those stitches. Nice job, whoever did it."

Dean just sulked a bit but nodded his head, after Tony gave him a warning look.

Then Ducky dragged Tony over the coals. "As for you, young man. What the devil do you think you're doing, shot in the chest and running around like a spring foal? You are on desk duty only, until those ribs heal properly. I'll not strap them, as I don't want to have you high-breathing; your lungs won't clear properly that way. But—and I do mean but—if there's any foolishness from you, I will. Am I clear?" He gave Tony that look that everyone knew well. It was his 'I am the Duckman, hear me roar' look. Abby's words belied the seriousness of the look. Ducky could, and would, put someone on medical leave until he was sure they were ready to go back into the field. The bad part of that was that, when put on medical leave, that person had to re-qualify, which was a real pain.

So both Tony and Dean agreed to comply with orders, which Ducky sent to their CO and XO, just to keep things on the up-and-up. Gibbs snarled at Tony, "You'll be coming home with me. Just in case."

Tony eyeballed Gibbs for a moment then sighed, "Ok, Boss."

"Finish your report ASAP. I want it on my desk by 1900 and us out of here by 1930. That means all of us." Gibbs sighed. He was tired, and he knew everyone else was too. He hated having to finish a report before he could rest and never had understood why it was so damn necessary. He also hated bean-counters. He settled at his desk to do his own report.

The rest of the group went to their desks, permanent or assigned, and booted up their computers. Stenos appeared at a call from Gibbs, and the burden of keeping the SEALs on task devolved to them.

The stenos were all old-timers and used to dealing with wired agents; wired SEALs weren't that much different. Nor were they actually that hard to keep on task; questioning always brought them back to the subject at hand. It didn't take long to get all the particulars down, data collated, and reports printed. They were done by 1900.

While that seemed late, it really wasn't. They'd been up and on the road by a little after noon. The drive had taken a bit more than two hours, which meant that they were at the Yard by 1400, and Ducky had taken right at an hour, so it had taken a bit more than four hours to do their reports.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The second the last report hit his desk Gibbs barked at the SEALs. "Alright, you lugnuts, go home." He eyed McGee and Ziva. "That includes you two. Home. Sleep. Dean, AJ, with me."

Everyone trooped to the elevator, got on, and went home.  
<><><><>.  
la tvbh - not good

TARFUN - things are really fucked up now

If you want to see the gloves just google Mixed Martial Arts gloves. (I'm done trying to post links as Fanfiction just truncates them into uselessness.)

The exercise plan was paraphrased from the Military*com website.

String crackers are little 'fireworks' activated by pulling on strings that stick out of each end. They're about half an inch long and a quarter in diameter. We [kids in my generation] used to booby-trap people by tying them inside a mailbox, or use thumbtacks to hide them in a desk drawer. Superglue can be used if the desk isn't wood. The resulting cracks do sound like .22 shots. Paintballers use them as booby traps.

I did not go into all the details (Much as I would have loved to) of the Kate. It's a sweet piece and a smooth shooter. But I know most of you aren't that interested in the details of a sniper rifle or scope.


End file.
